


Holiday Crazies

by AnonymousMink



Series: Madness Becomes Her [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: (kinda), Abusive Relationships, Bad Romance, Canon Typical Violence, Christmas Crazies, Crazy In Love, Dark fic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Graphic Violence, Hanukkah Homicidals, Jerome Lives, Jerome is the joker, Sequel, Strong Language, and not to mention a surprising amount of, considering the afforementioned tags, holiday fic, or at least the Joker was once Jerome, trigger warnings for (but not limited too)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-04-27 11:10:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14424153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousMink/pseuds/AnonymousMink
Summary: Harley has given up her old world and thrown herself head first into the madness,  now with a new life of crime to adjust to, a homicidal boyfriend, and the holidays just around the corner only one question remains... Will she make it to New Years in one piece?(Third Part of 'Madness Becomes Her' series, a future AU written during the S4 hiatus so completely uncanon-y after that point! (obviously now -.-) Gotham elements grown into a more familiar DC universe. Yet another Harley Origin story full of murder, mayhem and the contagious properties of madness. Joker/Harley.)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Annnnd we're back! Y'all knew I couldn't leave this AU alone for too long, especially after recent... events... on the show. Turns out denial is not just a river in Egypt after all!  
> I'm not sure what the update schedules going to be yet since I've broken my cardinal rule (aka not posting until I've finished the complete first draft WHOOPS.) but hey, we can wing it right? Also the prologue is written from a different POV than usual but never fear, we'll be back to our usually scheduled nut cases next chapter ;-P
> 
> As always thank you so much for still reading this strange little story of mine, I really hope you enjoy it and if you do please consider leaving a comment - they keep me writing! <3
> 
> Now... ON WITH THE SHOW!

 

“Helloooo Gotham,” the voice scraped out of the speakers, low and menacing and choked with laughter as the Joker filled the screen, the camera kept tight to his face, “it’s been too long I know I know. I hope ya haven’t missed me too much!”

Bruce shuddered, hands clenching into fists against the arms of his chair. Of all his decisions, the survival of Jerome Valeska had always haunted him the most. In his darkest moments he couldn’t help but wonder if it wouldn’t have been better to end it right at the start. To finish him before he had the chance to become the monster he was today.

_The Joker._

But no. That wasn’t his way, it never had been. And there was no time for self-recrimination, not since the rantings of the recently escaped convict couldn’t quite cover up the sound behind him.

_Sobbing._

Someone else was there, was in _danger_.

The sound of soft, feminine crying in the back of the broadcast that had Bruce’s ears pricking as he tried to increase the quality of the video. Unclenching his hands he  fiddled with the controls of the supercomputer, the image flickering and popping as he worked.  

“Now now don’t worry, I’m not here to make any grand plans or threats or _whatever,”_ the Joker waved at the camera, scarred face pouting with distaste, “I only got out a few days ago, let a guy get settled first would you! No I’m only here to answer onnnnne important question. The one in all the papers… ain’t that right doll?”

The sobs behind him increased and Bruce’s stomach plummeted. The tracer in the corner of his screen coming up empty time and time again as he tried and failed to track the signal.

It had to be _her,_ she hadn’t been since the Joker’s breakout, presumed kidnapped or dead. And… well, they’d all seen how he’d _favoured_ her at the charity gala. Bruce rubbed a hand against his chest, a faint bruise still painting his ribs where she’d tased him. She’d stood up for her patient even in the worst of circumstances and now Harleen Quinzel was paying a heavy price for it.

“I heard,” the frame wiggled, pulling out ever so slightly, “that some folks have been _concerned_ with the disappearance of my dearrrr Doctor Quinzel. Well I wouldn’t wanna keep you in suspense, Gotham, you know that! Let’s take a look see shall we?”

He stepped back with a sick flourish, his unbearable smile widening like it might split his face clean in two as he revealed the scene behind him. Confirming Bruce’s worst fears.

“N-n-no! Please help-“ the doctor was lashed to a chair by her wrists, white coat crumpled and blood stained. Blue eyes widened with terror as she struggled against her restraints. “Someone help me - please the Joker he’s…”

A sob wracked through her, head tucked protectively against her chest. Then another. Then… then she was _laughing._

“Harley!” The Joker huffed from off camera, “you’re killing the moment!”

“Sorry Mistah J,” she looked up, no hint of fear left as she grinned at him with  white teeth, “I just couldn’t help myself!”

Every muscle in Bruce’s body tensed up, hunting the frame for hints of Joker’s toxin. A new strain maybe made especially for her. But… no, there was no unnatural pallor, no grim twisted smile.

The madness… it seemed to be all in her.

Bruce felt sick to his stomach, it was worse than he could have ever imagined. The Joker had broken her completely, twisted her up like taffy into something unrecognisable.

And it was all his own fault.

He should have done more. He’d always kept tabs on the Joker’s treatment as part of his position on the Arkham board, as well as during his… _other_ activities. Needless to say he’d been skeptical when he’d found out they were giving his case to a fledgeling doctor, the ink still fresh on her degree.

And then he’d met her.

He’d realised outside of the club who she was, seen the suffering on her face. The despair. After that he’d done all he could to put a stop to it. Going against the board to get her taken off the case before any further harm could come to her.

But… it hadn’t been enough.

And then in the months that followed, in his hubris, he’d even thought it might’ve been for the _best_ that she kept treating him. Her methods were unconventional but they seemed to be working, lasting longer than any doctor before her as she worked the case.

He’d never realised she was the one really being worked on.

“Fine fine fine, let it never be said I denied _anyone_ a good laugh,” the Joker stepped back into shot as Harley’s giggles trailed off, rolling his eyes in a twisted echo of _affection_ at his ex-doctor _,_ “but if I don’t get to torture you today then who _do_ I get to torture?”

“How about,” her eyes roved the seemingly empty room before alighting on something off screen, her hands slipping easily from the restraints as she pointed it out, “him?”

“ _Perfect.”_ Wiggling his hand at the unseen camera man to follow them he helped Harley from her chair and escorted her to another victim. This one wasn’t faking his fear.

Bruce’s horror mounted with each second as the broadcast rolled on, his own inability to stop it burning in his gut as he watched the couple. Unable to look away.

“As you can see ladies and gentleman, Harley here is completely unharmed, right doll?”

“Right Mistah J!” She nodded, blonde hair bouncing. “Completely unharmed!”

“Which is more than we can say for this guy, so… wanna do the honours?” He held a knife out, Harley’s eyes dancing as she plucked it from his hand.

Bile coated his tongue, sickly sour as Harley rose up on her tiptoes, pressing a kiss to the Joker’s scarred cheek before turning the blade on the hostage.

  
“Don’t worry Gotham,” she sing-songed, elegant and unbearable as she grasped the man’s face, drawing the blade in jagged lines across his cheeks and humming as the blood pooled, “ _it’s_ _all smiles here.”_

 

 


	2. Alone Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back in the game! Thanks to everyone who's come along for the ride - I hope to see ya'll in the comment section (it makes my week!)  
> Now without futher ado - roll on the crazies ;-)

 

Time had become a cartoon rush, electric and alive as Harley threw herself into her new life like a half dressed pop star on a wrecking ball. Every minute dragging her in a hundred different directions each of them bolder and brighter than the last.

Every day was perfect so long as _he_ was there beside her.

But the nights…

Well, Harley was rapidly discovering that night time was the _worst_. Well early morning technically, her days and nights turning topsy turvy on themselves as she adjusted to her life of crime.

Everything was a different when she was alone, her room empty and echoing with her own thoughts, her _doubts._ That sensible little part of herself she’d done such a bang up job of letting go of came back in the quiet to haunt her. Repeating her Hippocratic oath like a song.

_Do no harm._

Well, rules were made to be broken, right? Couldn’t oaths be the same?

Huh? H _uh?_

 _Murderess_ . The voice replied as she tossed and turned in her borrowed bed, _Thief. Maniac._

She couldn’t shut it up, couldn’t stop it from eating away at her confidence. J was using her, it said. Manipulating her. He didn’t care about her at all. She was _pathetic_.

Hurling her pillow away she climbed to her feet and walked to the little window, peeling back the edge of the board with a sigh. It wasn’t the same hideout as the last time, maybe she was stupid for thinking it would have been, that had been nearly a decade ago after all. This place was bigger, stranger.

The Laughing Fish Inn seemed to have been built to be abandoned, like it had sprung up from the ground one day with boarded up windows and stained awnings. The whole area was really, a circle of crumbling buildings sticking up like broken teeth against the heavy sky, ringing the closed dockside.

Life had left this place long ago.

Maybe that’s why he’d chosen it.

It had been a week since the breakout and she still wasn’t used to the quiet here. No sirens, no screaming, just seagulls, the distant rumble of the highway, and her thoughts.

Still, finding her place in an established gang of chaotic clowns had been easier than she’d imagined, so there was that at least. J’s presence demanded compliance, if he said she was important she was important.

If he said listen to her they listened.

His world shaped around her like a memory foam mattress until it had swallowed her whole, every moment with him like breathing for the first time. Dizzy with excitement, with _potential,_ learning whatever she could. Whatever he’d share.

She’d already memorised the name of every henchman, always making sure to seat herself at J’s right side so they knew her place too. Going so far as to suggest things to him now and then when she could, and complying without complaint whenever he asked her to do something.  

Even when he asked her to maim.

To _kill._

No, she hadn’t just complied then, she’d _enjoyed_ it. The electric rush of power that came with having someone else’s life in her hands, the satisfaction of taking it however she saw fit. Gouging and smashing and _ending._ One week and already there was blood underneath her fingernails, embedded so deep no amount of scrubbing would get it out.

She painted over it instead, red and black nail polish to disguise the blood.

She painted her face too, restyled herself from the bundle of clothes Laney had left her, determined not to let J down. Even… even if still didn’t know _exactly_ what he wanted from her.

She’d thought… but then. Well he hadn’t… _they_ hadn’t… He’d been busy. _Too_ busy for anything but distracted touches and the occasional quick peck as he went from one thing to another with her at his heels. Neck deep in things she was only just starting to understand, he’d been out of the game for months. He had forces to marshall, plans to catch up with.

She understood. He was a world famous criminal, a mastermind, and she couldn’t expect him to drop everything and hold her hand just because she _sometimes_ struggled to adjust to her life of crime.

If she still had moments of doubt, late night panic attacks when the screaming was all she could hear and the disappointed faces of her family all she could see, well that was _her_ problem and she’d be damned if she’d let it get the better of her.

Only… only that was much easier to remember in the manic haze of their waking hours. Here she was alone and cold and a fucking mess without him.

 _Told you,_ the clinical cruel voice inside her said, _pathetic._

Scowling to herself she turned away from the window, feeling incredibly small as she headed into the hallway on instinct. The abandoned hotel’s dust-smothered carpets muffling her steps as she crossed the short distance to the door next to hers.

The one with the J spray painted on it in vivid purple.

“ _Mistah J?”_ It was barely more than a whisper as she raised a trembling fist to knock at the wood, feeling stupider and stupider by the second, “ _Mistah J are you awake?_ ”

Silence echoed around her, threatening to suffocate her as she felt time drag, each second an ice age as she realised what she was doing. Her thoughts buzzed, stinging at her like wasps. _Hornets._ Big ass killer bees as she turned away.

What had she been _thinking?_

She took a half step before the door clicked open, stumbling over herself as he appeared at its edge. Backlit and hazy in the late hour air.

“Whassa matter Harley girl?” He looked rumpled, hair sticking up in a way that made her heart damn near squeeze in two.

“I can’t sleep,” she mumbled, feeling the colour roaring into her cheeks as she fiddled with the hem of her nightshirt. Unable to meet his eye, “my head… it’s too loud. Can I… can I stay with you tonight?”

He was silent for long enough she almost wilted on the spot, wishing the angular printed carpet would come alive and swallow her whole. Stupid stupid _stupid_ Harley _._

“D-don’t worry about it, it was a dumb idea-“ she wrapped her arms around her middle, throat too tight to swallow as she turned away again. Silently berating herself for making herself look so weak in front of him.

_Great idea Harls, he’ll really respect you now!_

A single touch stopped her, his hand on her shoulder. Her eyes widened, flying up to meet his as his door opened fully and he tugged her inside.

“Come on then, I haven’t got all night.”

“Sure, thanks,” She squeaked, chest easing enough she could take a full breath as she stumbled into his room.

It was as messy as she remembered, clothes piled up on the sides, the floors, two desks shoved together and overloaded with blueprints and plans and more weapons than she’d ever seen in one place before. The walls were covered with newspaper clippings and scribbles, a plush Batman doll like the ones they sold at the market downtown hanging above the bed, a butter knife stuck through its button eye.

She drank it in. It was so… _him,_ crowded and contradictory and so busy it didn’t give her time to think. Comforting in its chaos.

“If you start snoring you’re out,” he cocked his head at her, a taunting half smile on his face as he folded his arms, “I got work to do, start singing in your sleep and you’re gonzo.”

She couldn’t help but giggle, flushing as the weird tension that had been threatening to swamp her eased, swapped for an entirely different type of tension. Her pulse picked up, spiking erratically as he jerked his thumb at the bed.

Just because he hadn’t made a move yet didn’t mean she hadn’t been thinking about it.

 _Obsessing_ about it.

But J wasn’t like other guys, it was the reason she’d fallen so hard for him in the first place. She’d have to wait, had to take everything she was given and pray for more.

“I’ll be quiet as a church mouse,” she ducked her chin, unable to quite believe herself as she slid beneath the messed up purple sheets. “Promise.”

“That’s my girl,” he returned to his desk, sharpie in hand as he examined his work, “now tell that pretty little brain of yours to shut the hell up and go to sleep.”

“Yes Mistah J,” and just like that she did. His presence wiping out her doubts quicker than a wet sponge on a chalkboard. She curled into herself, eyes fluttering shut as she rested her cheek against a pillow that still smelt like him and slept properly for the first time in a long time.

 

\---

 

There was a girl asleep in his bed.

Fully zonked-out, dead to the world unconscious.

Sleeping like a baby, like she hadn’t just wheedled her way into the bedroom of a world renowned murderer, maniac, and all around bad seed.

What the hell was wrong with her?

Well, a lot of things really. Lovely, bizarre murdery things, as she’d proved over and over since their great escape. Bloody things. But really, this had to be the most _insane_ thing she’d done yet.

God damn that Harley was a weird one.

J couldn’t keep from looking up, the plans in front of him neglected as his gaze travelled back to her again and again. Like his eyes were on a frickin merry go round.

He could snuff her out in a second and she’d never see it coming. A shot. A stab. A goddamn pillow over that button nose of her and poof! No more Harley.

Well of course he wouldn’t, but he _could_ and that’s what mattered. He wasn’t sure if she really trusted him or just didn’t care anymore, either way what a nut!

Something twinged under his ribs as he gazed at her, the late night crazies perhaps, or indigestion. Yeah probably that.

She was just taking her first baby bird steps into freedom after all, and that always came at a cost. A price paid in memories and doubts and overthinking. He pretended he didn’t remember it but some small part of him did. These first few nights were the _worst._ They’d suck like a two dollar hooker on the dockside as she settled into the reality of her new self. She was a good kid though, she’d get over it soon enough.

He had.

And maybe sleeping with danger was her way of dealing. Who was he to judge?

Although... he hadn’t expected that sleeping with Harley would involve so much… well… _sleeping._ His fevered imagination coming up with a much more unlikely scenario in the dead of night when he was all on his lonesome with his thoughts. Wondering if maybe he would walk in one day to find her waiting on his bed in something see-through and sparkly, ready to work her feminine wiles on him.

It would be the expected power move if they were like anyone else, some femme fatale wanting to get her claws into himself, to _control_ him.

But they weren’t like anyone else.

And besides he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea of someone, of _Harley,_ wanting to do that with him in the first place. Devotion yes, affection of course, but wanting to get hot and sweaty? No way.

He just wasn’t… _fuckable._

His every move, every appearance designed to inspire madness, chaos, _terror._ Not lust.

Hell, he didn’t even know how he felt about the whole thing! It had never come into the equation before her but now... well maybe he was willing to do a _little_ math. Crunch a few numbers. See how things turned out.

Oh that Harley, she always kept him guessing alright! That was her appeal, equal parts murderess, clown and broken doll as she wrapped herself up in his life like she’d always been there. As she made him consider at a whole new slew of questions he’d never been asked before.

And he was still looking at her.

Growling under his breath J forced his attention back to the documents in front of him, he’d been going through them for _days._ Rediscovering and discarding the blueprints and plans for all the hundreds of ideas he hadn’t pulled yet.

None of them were _it_.

That perfect sweet spot of madness and mayhem and fun that would see him return to spotlight in the manner he deserved. A manner _worthy._

Gotham had become complacent in his absence, the bad kiddies forgetting what it meant that the Joker was back on the streets again. They knew all too well about his disinterest in their _boring_ turf wars and shady dealings, mistaking disinterest with unimportance.

A big mistake.

And their last.

No no no, now was no time for wrestling with biological impulses and _feelings_ and fleshy concerns, he had bigger fish to fry.

Buuuuuut… that would require planning and patience, a big idea he could unroll like a red carpet over the city. He needed… _inspiration._ And he wasn’t gonna get it if he kept turning to look at the unconscious woman lying in his bed like she owned the place.

It was the surprise of it, he told himself, that’s why it was pulling his focus. Whilst he might have been expecting ( _hoping?_ ) for an attack of her feminine wiles no part of him had been prepared for _this_ . Her showing up at his door at 5am in the ugliest nightshirt he’d ever seen with red eyes and uncertainty on her face, asking for nothing more than _company_ whilst she slept _._

It was too bizarre.

Maybe it was a sign he should call it for the night. He wasn’t getting anywhere fast and he needed to be fully refreshed if he was going to come up with the greatest come back stunt of his career before Christmas.

He sighed but didn’t get up, still staring at the sleeping form in his bed for a endless moment.

When was the last time he’d shared a bed with someone? A room?

Not since he was a kid with…

Anger coiled sharply in his gut, squeezing his fists as he kicked his chair out from under the table and got to his feet. It didn’t matter. This was _his_ room, she was the one who’d come seeking asylum. If she didn’t like sharing she could leave.

Straightening up, he rolled the tension from his shoulders before stepping determinedly towards the bed, pulling back the edge of the covers and folding himself down next to her.

The sheets were warm, the faint scent of vanilla clinging to him as he wiggled awkwardly between them. Trying to settle himself next to her and freezing when she moved, rolling over with a mumbled nonsense comment before going still again, nestled perfectly against him. Like puzzle pieces.

Eesh. Mawkish much?!

Shoving her further across the bed he flopped onto his back and closed his eyes, determined not to give up on his much needed beauty sleep just for a pair of pretty eyes. Especially when they were already closed.

No, this was his bed.

His rules.


	3. American Beauty/American Psycho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wish I dreamt in the shape your mouth  
> But it's your thread count I really care about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three for three! Not bad aye kiddos? Let's see if we can keep up the pace! :D  
> As always comments are worth their weight in gold! Kissy face <33

 

 

J was gone by the time she woke up, a hazy memory of a warm body next to hers in the stillness. The only proof it had happened at all was the fact that she was still in his room.

And the post-it note he’d stuck to her forehead.

It had a sleeping smiley face drawn on it, making her giggle even as she rubbed at her forehead to try and erase the mark. Silently glad that it was the post-it and not her face he’d decided to sharpie.

Harley crept back to her room in a daze, trying her best to calm the blush that seemed to have tattooed itself into her skin during the night. A constant low level fever she must have caught from him, one she kinda hoped she’d never fully cast.

There was no denying it.

That was the best nights sleep she’d had in a long time.

Her brain only really started working again after her shower, the cold water knocking some sense into her as she turned her attention to the day ahead. Humming to herself she sorted through the messy stack of clothes Laney had left in her room, looking for anything clean that might vaguely fit.

She supposed that this was the was one major downside of breaking bad on the spur of the moment, her lack of planning had sent her into her new life with nothing but the clothes on her back and the gun in her pocket. It _was_ kinda poetic, a whole new life, a whole new her. But still, she kinda wished she had own stuff.

Sighing she threw on yet another oversized shirt and yesterday’s leggings and headed for the stairs. If she was going to fully embrace this lifestyle, fully embrace _herself,_ she needed to change things up. Make her outsides match her insides. But that meant somehow going back into the world unnoticed, as a wanted fugitive no less, and doing some serious _shopping._

Maybe J would know what to do, he was always so well dressed after all.

 _Ridiculously_ well dressed.

It had been bad enough keeping her eyes off him when he was in the Arkham uniform, now he was back in his own clothes she was becoming a liability. Her attention span ready to crash and burn at a moments notice when he walked into a room.

Maybe Laney or one of the other henchies was a more sensible option to ask, they’d have to know how to get around the city unseen after all. Maybe they could help her out.

J was hunched over the table when she stepped into the main room, catching up with his plans apparently. He didn’t even look up as she greeted the dogs at the bottom of the stairs, two wagging tails following her as she crossed the room. She was careful not to stare this time, no matter how good he looked with his sleeves rolled up.

The boy had _arms. Two_ of the damn things! As far as Harley was concerned they could chuck out the entire stash of semi automatics, they couldn’t compare the gun show J was living on a daily basis.

But she _wasn’t_ going to stare. Nope, not today, she looked ahead instead, waving as she met Laney’s gaze. She was standing by the mini fridge in the corner of the room, putting down the knife she was sharpening to pass Harley a bottle of water as she drew up.

“Morning Harley,” she smiled tiredly, both of them ignoring the fact it was already well into the afternoon, “Sleep well?”

Fuck. Damn. Shit. She was blushing again.

Swallowing down the water so she didn’t have to answer right away she couldn’t help her eyes from darting back to J again. There was something undeniably alert about his posture now, even if his gaze never wavered from the plans in front of him. Like he was waiting for her answer too.

“Yes, thank you,” she fought not to squeak the words out when she spoke at last, tipping her chin up with false confidence. If he _was_ listening she wouldn’t let him know how much he’d affected her without actually having to do anything, “best nights sleep I’ve had in ages in fact. _Weird_ dreams though.”

“Oh?” Laney asked innocently as Harley recapped the bottle, going back to sharpening the knife she was working on, “What about?”

Harley’s eyes never left J’s apparently uninterested form as she replied.

“Well, I was sleeping under a parachute with this six foot long hyena, only he kept elbowing me and stealing all the covers.” J tensed, snorting quietly at the table as she felt her heart turn over. He _was_ listening, she knew it! Grinning she tilted her head at Laney, “still, he _was_ kinda cute I suppose.”

“Sounds like you’re lucky he didn’t decide to eat you alive, kiddo,” J looked up at last, narrowed eyes twinkling at her as his mouth slipped into a familiar grin, “I don’t think hyenas make particularly good bedfellows.”

She swallowed hard, meeting his gaze head on and smirking right back, “don’t knock it till you try it, puddin’. You’d be surprised.”

Tension crackled in the air, lightning over her skin as their eyes met. Jeez, he could do more with one look than most men could do with their entire bodies. Did he have magic powers or something?!

She blinked first, pulling away to address Laney again with a carefully nonchalant smile, determined not to get sucked into another staring match she was sure to lose, “there a car or something I can borrow around here, Lane? I gotta run some errands.”

“Sure, I mean-“ Laney’s gaze broke from hers, flickering up behind Harley’s shoulder.

She hadn’t heard him move. One second he was at the table the next he was right behind her, his fingers burning against her spine as she startled back

“Going somewhere are we Harls?” He asked right beside her ear, breath ghosting across skin.

“Um… shopping?” She blinked, finding herself skewered by his sudden attention as she turned to look at him, “much as I love the second hand look, I’d kinda like my own clothing… and _underwear_.”

She barely noticed Laney leaving as he moved closer, stealing her air as he filled her vision. So much _him_ she could hardly think through it. His eyes danced over her tauntingly, then he was grinning again.

“Well, why didn’t you say so!” He crowed, fingers tightening against her back, “Can’t have my girl going around in hand me downs can we? _”_

 

—-

 

So Harley wanted to go out did she?

Well, they could all do with the fresh air, and just because they had to lie low for a coupla weeks didn’t mean they were _housebound._ Besides, he needed the exercise, get some of the… _tension_ out.

“Come on then kiddo,” he held out his arm to her.

“You’re coming too?” He would have been offended by her surprise if it wasn’t for the obvious delight in her face as she slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow.

“You got a black card I don’t know about, Harls?” He hitched an eyebrow at her, teasing her anyway just to see her blush. “Fat stacka cash squirrelled away somewhere? Didn’t think so.”

His eyes darted over her as they headed for the door. Man’s shirt and too-tight leggings, she made it work of course. She could damn near make anything work. But still, it was hardly a sartorial tour de force.

No. No, she deserved something _spanky_ , something sparkly! Something that was worthy of standing next to him. Crime was 99% presentation after all.

He could take her to the warehouse he supposed, they had every kind of get up in there. The whole place packed for any themed caper he could think of, something for the whole gang. But Harley… well she wasn’t just another one of the gang, was she? They were accessories, interchangeable, she… she was a statement piece.

No. She had to look her best if she was going to take pole position at his side and that meant only one thing.

It was time to take her to the master.

 

—-

 

She’d been imagining a late trip to a department store, wearing some elaborate disguises maybe as they snuck around in plain views. Or maybe they’d wait until closing, bash in the back window with a baseball bat and take whatever they wanted.

A glorious crime spree full of designer clothes and jewellery and whatever else she could get her grubby little hands on.

Instead they pulled up in a quiet little area on the edge of the Narrows, crumbling grey buildings with barred windows crowding the street on either side. Almost blocking out the sky.

She tried not to gawp as he opened the door for her, following him silently up a rickety flight of stairs to a stained doorway on the second floor of one of the buildings. Only the discrete wooden sign advertising ‘T. Rosenberg , Master Tailor and Costumier’ marked it as anything other than another cramped dwelling.

She found herself fidgeting nervously as they waited, J waving her back every time she looked at him impatiently. It took two whole minutes for the door to move after they’d knocked, two minutes of them standing out there in the open in all their ‘wanted murderer’ glory, until at last she heard chains rattling, deadlocks scraping back painfully slowly.

Swallowing a sigh of relief when the door opened at last she turned to look for the owner of the strange establishment. Then she looked down and tried again. T. Rosenberg, master tailor and costumier, was 5 foot tall if he was an inch, face wizened beneath thinning grey hair as he squinted up at them through coke-bottle glasses.

“Ah Mister Kerr, I was not expecting you.” His face broke into a smile missing more than a few teeth as he ushered them inside. Apparently entirely undisturbed by the criminals on his doorstep, “You come for a new suit, yes?”

“Not for me Tobes, this here is my _fiancé,_ Miss Quinn,” his hand clasped her shoulder, pushing her forward into the small room as she gaped at him, “I need you to work your magic for her.”

 _His fiancé?_ She felt her insides reverse, barely able to stop herself from squealing like a five year old girl as she stumbled into the warm, golden world of the tailor shop.

It was a cover story, _obviously,_ but still. She couldn’t stop the happy little glow the words ignited in the pit of her stomach even as she forced herself to close her mouth. They kept her toasty warm as she took stock of her surroundings.

Aside from a beaded curtain that seemed to lead into the kitchen the room was entirely enclosed, three mirrors set up on one side around a small raised platform, a few chairs on the other with a stack of ancient looking magazines between them. Every spare inch of wall space in between was taken up with fabric. There were rolls upon rolls of it, fine silks and intricate brocades, linens and sequins and things she couldn’t even name lining the room in a cavalcade of colour.

“She want a suit like yours?” bushy grey eyebrows rose above the tailor’s glasses, snapping her attention back to the present as he looked at her in surprise. His accent was thick and vaguely Eastern European, reminding her dimly of a grandfather she could barely remember anymore, “She is far too pretty!”

“No no no,” J shook his head, “but she’s in the act. Sharp shooter, knife thrower, _acrobat._ She needs something suitable and you’re the only man I trust with the job.”

 _The act._ That’s what he called it huh? Well she supposed it might explain why this strange, news-starved old man didn’t seem to blink at J’s wardrobe. Hell, if he was the one who’d made it he was sure to be used to the dramatic costume choices by now, the endlessly flamboyant suits with all the extra pockets and holsters they needed in them.

Although how he’d still failed to realise J, sorry _Mister Kerr,_ was in fact the notorious Joker remained beyond her comprehension.

“A talented lady!” Rosenberg eyed her up again, “Hmm yes, I have an idea for you, stand on box here and stretch your arms. Many ideas, we make her wardrobe, eh Mister Kerr?”

“The full works Tobes,” J grinned back flopping down into an overstuffed armchair in the corner and picking up a magazine, “not just for the show either - we want day wear, night wear, evening wear, footwear, _underwear_ , anything and everything she might need for an active social calendar.”

“Yes we make all this, beautiful things. _Rina, customers!”_ that last bit was shouted through the beaded curtain before he was gesturing for her to move again. Harley complied, mind still struggling to catch up with the surreality of it all as she climbed onto the platform and stuck her arms out awkwardly. The tiny man whipped out a tape measure with a studied look, “You like purple huh? Like fiancé? Maybe some green?”

“No…” she looked at herself in the mirror and saw the person she could be staring back. Someone who complimented him but wasn’t trying to _be_ him. Someone irreplaceably her _._ She thought about her prom dress from before, her gala dress, the clothes that had made her _her._ “Red please, and black. I like red and black.”

“Good colours on you. I make it work.” He nodded, jotting down measurements in a tiny notebook, “I give you everything you need, then you come back for your wedding dress huh?”

Her chest ached, she glanced back at J in the mirror and found him looking right at her. Something unreadable on his face as their eyes touched and her heart tried to beat its way out of her ribs entirely.

Then the beaded curtain was rustling open with a sound like a rainmaker and things went from weird to downright _bizarre._ A little old lady bustled into the room, her arms dragging under the weight of the tea tray in her arms. Without a word J sprang up, magazine abandoned as he rushed to take it from her hands, placing it carefully on the side table.

“Ah such a good boy,” she patted him on the cheek with one gnarled hand, voice warm with affection, “Oh - who have you brought us?”

“This is my special lady,” J grinned back as he poured the tea for her, “Miss Quinn.”

She didn’t have time to squee again, or stutter,  the old woman was already looking up at her in the mirror, head tilting critically. Harley fought the urge not to squirm under her gaze, suddenly an awkward teenager again as she was measured as thoroughly by the woman’s eyes as her husband’s tape measure.

“Beautiful,” She pronounced her judgement at last, nodding firmly as she braced her hands against her hips, “but too skinny. I made some Rugelach today, you will take it home with you.”

So that’s how it was that an hour later she was walking back down the steps of the shop with a biscuit tin held close to her chest, every inch of her measured from her arm span to the width of her big toe, the smell of fresh baked goods wafting through the air.

“I haven’t had these since I was a kid,” she said still a little dazed at the whole situation as her fingers traced the edge of the tin, “my Gramma always used to make them at Hanukkah.”

J slung his arm around her shoulder as they hit the sidewalk, peering at her curiously in the cold night air, “I didn’t know you were Jewish, Harls,”

“From my mom, not that we went to temple much, my dad was catholic,” she shrugged, “we only really celebrated either of ‘em at Hanukkah and Christmas. Kind of a minefield really, but… fun.”

“You miss it?” He asked, waving Jeff away as he jumped to open the door, “we’re gonna take a walk around the block, keep her running.”

“I like celebrating stuff,” she smiled, the street lights shining off the damp pavement as they walked. It must have rained at some point. It would start snowing soon though, “the holidays especially. The lights, the decorations, the whole wide world pretending everything is alright for a week or two.”

“Tis the season to be smiley,” he nodded, drawing up next to her as she paused in front of a narrow storefront. The display laced with tinsel and baubles and suddenly unbearably nostalgic.

A shiny world she wanted to steal all for herself, one where everyone was happy. Laughing. Like he was.

Like her family had never been.

“Exactly,” she sighed, pressing a finger against the cold glass and drawing a happy face in the condensation, giving him a lil Santa hat just for kicks, “maybe we should get some decorations or something. Spruce up the hideout?”

“Sure thing doll, we can celebrate all the holidays, Hanukkah, Christmas,” he tilted his head towards her conspiratorially, his smile turning everything rosy again, “hell we’ll throw in Kwanza if ya want, everyone deserves some festive fun after all…”

He trailed off, eyes going distant in a way that made her heart double up its beat, the burning spark of genius in them flaring like supernovas, sending everything else spiralling from her head.

She _knew_ that look.

“You’re having an idea aren’t ya, Mistah J?” She asked breathlessly, stretching up on her toes to bop a finger against his nose. Wonder curling through her chest as the air turned static around them

He snatched her hand out of mid air, biting lightly at her finger and making her blush down to her toes, “I’m having an idea, Harley, and it’s a real _beaut!”_

“Share with the class?” She beamed, the second hand thrill of his excitement turned her bones into rubber.

“You’ve given me some real holiday inspiration,” he grinned, eyes narrowed in a way that promised mayhem and murder and _fun,_ a celebration she'd never forget,  “I think we should share our festivity with the _whole_ of the city this year, give them the greatest gift of all!”

“What’s that Mistah J?” She asked, almost floating as he tilted her chin up with a wicked promise in his eyes.

“ _Laughter.”_

  
  



	4. Dance Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She says she's no good with words but I'm worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter should be subtitled 'how many Joker-featuring-properties can Mink mangle in one document?' - the answer? Quite a few!  
> Anywhoozles, as always I hope you enjoy it fellow maniacs, and I hope to see ya'll in the comments section ;-)

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It was  _ perfect.  _ Exactly what the city needed, exactly what  _ he  _ needed.

The big reminder.

The show stopper.

Now he just needed to pull it off…

J spent three days planning, circus music playing on a loop through his brain as he juggled scenarios like geese until he’d found  _ just _ the right one. The perfect blend of holiday cheer and absolute carnage, with just the right twist to keep things interesting and a slice of lemon on the side. Oh yeah, it was gonna be a hell of a holiday now.

Harley stayed close, distracted now and then as the packages began to arrive from the tailors. He could always count on the Rosenberg’s to provide an exceptional, and hella discrete, service, and they had gone above and beyond for his lady friend! More clothes than he could imagine came through the doors, keeping her busy as he worked. Enough packages that she must’ve had a real decision on her hands when he told her it was time to go out.

“Where we heading, puddin’?” She snapped her gum, petting at the dogs distractedly from the floor of his room in one of her new night dresses. Red and just a little bit slinky. 

A real distraction when she’d showed up at his door again last night. Not that he was gonna complain about it, not with a view like  _ that.  _ Even if it had made it more than a little bit  _ tricky  _ to remain unaffected when he’d woken up with a warm thigh wrapped around his and a whole lot of silky fabric rubbing up against his particulars.

_ Focus.  _ He reminded himself, a freshly familiar tingle sparking through him as he watched her rise gracefully from the floor, batting at the dogs affectionately as they tried to leap up after her.  _ Foooocus. _

“We’re gonna visit a few old friends,” he stretched his arms over his head until his back made a satisfying crunch, dragging his mind up outta the gutter with him as he stood, “put on something sparkly Harls, cos we’re going dancing.”

He just needed to take a damn cold shower first. Maybe spend five minutes with a soapy washcloth. It was nothing a bit of elbow grease and imagination couldn’t take care of after all.

In the short term at least.

Harley, defying all stereotypes known to man or beast, was already waiting for him by the time he hit the lobby twenty minutes later. His eyebrows jumped at the sight of her. She’d taken his sparkly comment literally. The light bounced off her like a disco ball with every movement, half red, half black,  _ all _ shiny. The modest neckline only seeming to emphasize exactly how much of her gams were on display.

He really was gonna have to send Tobes and the Missus a Texas sized bonus this year.

“Suitable?” She asked coyly, batting heavily made up lashes and twirling for him. Jesus Christ just look at those legs - stretching all the way up and making a real ass of themselves.

“Not even slightly,” he grinned, forcing himself to look up at last and meet her eyes, “but who’d wanna be  _ suitable _ ?”

She beamed back, taking his arm when he offered it. One of the goons opening the doors for them as they stepped out into the night.

Suitable or not, they made a pretty damn attractive couple if he did say so himself. 

 

—-

 

The VIP entrance was hidden from street view on a narrow side street, just exuding exclusiveness. Harley couldn’t keep her eyes off the window as they pulled up, watching a group of stragglers being herded away by a bouncer with muscles like hams. Tasteful neon lights painting the night like a lite-brite.

_ Fancy. _

Jeff got the door for them, J handing her out of the car and into the cold night air. It was like stepping out of a bubble into a storm, the city was electric around her. She could feel the distant pulse of music thrumming through her, mixing with the rumble of traffic and somewhere… a sharp pop. Gunshot or car backfiring. It didn’t matter which.

Gotham was alive tonight, and so was she.

She flashed a smile at the bouncer as he hurried to let them in, the snap-crackle of his walkie-talkie following them up into the dimly lit staircase. The walls were papered with art nouveau posters, the music rolling down to meet them like an old friend.

It got into her veins, a steady beat that tasted like adrenaline as she entered the Iceberg Lounge on J’s arm. The patrons drew back at the sight of them, a crowd of the elegant and bizarre, sharp eyed as they muttered comments beneath their breath to each other.

_ Did you know he was out? _

_ Who’s with him? _

_ Why are they here? _

No screaming though, nooo not here. This was a refuge for the ridiculously wealthy and determinedly criminal, but J… J was something else. A lion among coyotes.

No, a  _ hyena. Her  _ hyena, a pack with just the two of them in it as they smiled and nodded at the aghast patrons.

“Evening, evening, howdy there,” he met every eye that dared to look at him, sending them skittering away like the cowards they were as a path opened up in front of them, “the boss in tonight? Anyone? Pengy! There you are!”

A man stepped into their line of sight, his eyes studied and cold beneath a black feathery fringe. Every line of his body saying ‘ _ my turf’  _ as much as it said ‘ _ get out.’ _

“Jer…  _ Joker _ , what a  _ pleasant _ surprise.” The slip was momentary, slight enough not to be noticed by the majority who would hear it. Harley wasn’t the majority. It was a hint and she knew it, an elbow at J’s past. An acquaintance with an edge then.

“Pengy! My old old  _ old _ old friend, how ya been?” J hadn’t missed it either, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as they crossed that final few feet, halting just inches from the man’s luxe fur coat. 

_ Faux _ fur she hoped, eyeing him up again.

“I can’t complain,” Pengy replied. His features were pointed, clean and pale as he tilted his head, “I hear you just got out of Arkham…  _ again.” _

“Well, you know what they say,” J’s hand squeezed against her hip as he bared his teeth in a smile, “can’t keep a good man down!”

“Hmm. Quite. And who is your…  _ charming  _ companion.” The smile didn’t touch his eyes but Harley beamed back anyway, all teeth as J hurried to introduce them.

“Where are my manners? Pengy this is my girl Harley Quinn,” was it ridiculous that her heart still tripped like a drunken socialite? She didn’t care, it felt wonderful when he said her name. When he called her  _ his _ , “Harls this is  _ Ozzz-wald  _ Cobblepot, aka the uh…  _ Penguin _ .”

“Pleased ta meetcha Mr Penguin,” Harley stuck her hand out with her most winning smile, expression sticking as he raised her fingers to his mouth. Pressing a cold lingering kiss to her knuckles that seemed more for J’s benefit than her own.

Somehow she didn’t think Pengy was in the business of wooing ladies. It didn’t take a psych degree to work that one out, not if the big ass painting of him and a man in green smirking at each other behind the bar was any indication.

“However did you end up in such…  _ interesting  _ company, Miss Quinn?” He asked, the picture of false gentility as he looked between them. Like she couldn’t see the calculations running a mile a minute behind his eyes.

“Harley,  _ please _ ” she beamed, even as J pulled her hand free from Penguin’s. Peeling off one butter soft leather glove with his teeth he rubbed at her fingers with it. She didn’t mind the  _ Miss  _ this time, nothing about her screamed ‘medical professional’ anymore. Sensible skirt suits and glasses switched out for sparkles and more makeup than backstage at a Dolly Parton look alike convention. “And me and Mistah J… we go way back.”

She grinned at him, an answering smile on J’s face as, apparently satisfied her hand was clean of Penguin Cooties, he tucked it firmly through the crook of his arm. Keeping her close by his side _. _

“How _ fascinating _ .” Penguin’s smile was tight, guarded. He did have fantastic hair though, she had to give him that. Fantastic and weirdly familiar.

“Have we met before, Mr Penguin?” she squinted her eyes, something ticking in the back of her head as she gave him a second look. There was  _ something,  _ from back when she was in Gotham the first time. Something she was forgetting. “Wait! No - weren’t you the  _ mayor _ for a while?”

That was it! She remembered the fuss in the papers now, the shootings, the crime sprees. Of course all of that, all of  _ everything,  _ had a tendency to slip her mind when J was around. And besides, it wasn’t like he’d been in Arkham when she was working there.

“A long time ago.” The Penguin shifted uncomfortably, favouring his right leg as he half turned away. His gaze darted between them, over into the crowds and back again, small talk apparently exhausted, “so, what can I do for you two this evening then? A booth perhaps? Drinks? On the house  _ of course. _ ”

J took charge, that wicked glint to his smile as he hooked a thumb under his lapel.

“Can’t a guy just visit an old friend, no strings attached?”  He asked, head tilting innocently.

Penguin just looked at him, utterly deadpan, his expression screaming ‘ _ no’  _ as clearly as if he’d shouted it aloud. Harley tried not to giggle.

“Fine,” J sighed, world weary as he flapped a hand at the shorter man, “we’ll talk  _ business _ then.” He turned his smile on her, pinching her cheek, “Why don’t you go enjoy yourself doll, it won’t take long promise.”

“Sure thing Puddin’,” reaching up on her tiptoes she pressed a kiss to his scarred cheek, trying not to be too disappointed that she wouldn't get to stay with him, “come find me when you’re done, ‘k?”

“Always.”

She turned away with a wink, feeling his gaze lingering on her as she slipped into the crowd. A ray of smugness radiated through her, she’d made sure to leave a perfect red lipstick mark on his cheek before she left.

Now everyone in here would know he was taken.

 

_ —- _

 

“Smart kid that one,” J grinned as he watched her walk away, “real  _ ass- _ et to the team.”

“ _ Joker _ .” Ozzy snapped, irritability rising through his studied politeness.

“I’m looking for Crane.” He dragged his eyes away at last, cold and sharp again as he slung an arm around Ozzy’s shoulders, “You know where he is these days?”

It was all too easy to intimidate Ozzy, his dislike telegraphed in every twitch of his expression. Fear rising off him beneath the thin veneer of respectability and disapproval.

“I’m afraid he doesn’t frequent the lounge,” Ozzy sneered, pulling out from under his arm, “such a pity.”

“I didn’t  _ ask  _ if he was stopping by for Thirsty Thursday every week, Pengy,” he sighed, the sound scraping out of his throat rich with disappointment, “I asked if you knew  _ where _ he was.”

Jeez, he thought he was soooo clever as he squawked and stumbled didn’t he? Really, it was a pedestrian effort. Everyone knew Ozzy made it a point to keep tabs on every crook on the loose in Gotham, well except  _ him  _ of course. Even Ozzy wasn’t bird brained enough to try that shit.

“Tick tock,” J reminded him, leaning back against the bar as his attention flickered back to the dance floor again, “I’d hate to make a scene in front of the little woman.”

Harley was something alright, he’d watched her bash a man’s brains in with a hammer two days ago but here… here she was innocence incarnate. Bopping happily along to some mindless bubblegum pop tune in the middle of the dance floor, face lit up from within as her dress shimmied and sparkled around her.

She wasn’t  _ trying  _ to be sexy, not really, not like some of the them tryhards out there. She had nothing to prove, nothing to gain. She was just  _ enjoying  _ herself, blonde hair swinging about her shoulders, all soft and shiny as she danced.

_ Tactile _ . 

He wasn’t the only one who thought so.

A growl worked up low in his throat, rumbling like a speedboat starting as some fucking dandy moved up behind her. His jeans so tight that even from this distance J could see his semi and a nickel.

_ Ugh. _

_“_ My _,”_ Ozzy smirked _,_ “your friend seems to be rather _popular,_ doesn’t she? Shouldn’t you be stepping in?”

He wasn’t sure which one he wanted to deck more, Ozzy or the asshole. He restrained himself, every muscle locked down as the guy on the dance floor edged closer to Harley, mouth moving by her ear, too low to hear over the music. 

He had to see what she’d do. That was the point of sending her away at all wasn't it?

To see. To know  exactly what kind of creature he’d let into his bedroom.

“She can take care of herself,” he said for Ozzy’s benefit, fists clenching as he watched the smile drop from her face. Button nose crinkling as she jerked away from the stranger, waving him away before she tried to get back into her groove.

That was right. That was… nope, the asshole wouldn’t take the hint. J sucked in a deep breath as the guy’s hands found Harley’s hips.

One touch and she snapped like a rubber band.

_ Good. _

A knife appeared from  _ somewhere  _ in her dress. J wasn’t sure where but he kinda wanted to find out.   _ Later _ . Cos right now her blood red lips were drawing back in a snarl as she attacked, slashing at his face. 

And suddenly threatening Ozzy could wait.

“Hold that thought Pengers,” J sighed theatrically, already moving towards her, “I better go clear this up.”

He couldn’t stop the beat of _pride_ in his chest as he strolled across the room, a viciously righteous feeling as she reduced her would-be-suitor to tears. She was _his_ and she knew it.

He’d had to be sure. Had to wait until she’d proved it.

_ Atta girl. _

“You don’t get to  _ touch _ me.” He heard her shout, the floor clearing around her as the music died down. Her blade pressed into the idiot’s throat as J sauntered up behind them. 

“What the-“ the dandy’s eyes went wide, his whimpering becoming a full on sob as he looked between them.

“What’s all this then?” J asked with a cold smile, watching the blood drip down the man’s throat and fighting the urge to rip it out entirely with his bare hands.  _ Patience. Don’t spoil the party too soon. _

“Mistah J!” Harley looked around, her rage ebbing just a little as their gazes touched, tempered with relief _.  _ The knife might not have been in her pocket anymore but she sure did look pleased to see him.

“How ya doing, Harls?” He asked, supremely casual as he drew his gun from its holster and made a show of polishing it with the corner of his waistcoat. She could take care of herself, he knew that without a doubt now, but there was a price to pay for touching his stuff and this guy wasn’t about to skip out on the bill.

“I  _ was  _ feeling my oats,” she said, eyes narrowing as they flicked back to the man in front of her,  drawing her knife back to use it for emphasise, “until this fella started trying to get all up in my business.”

“Well that’s just impolite!” He gasped, turning to focus on the man too. The slow spreading stain on the guy’s too-tight jeans made J’s lip curl, at least he seemed to have grasped the situation finally. “You been bothering my girl here, buddy?”

“I didn’t-“ the man stuttered pitifully, “I didn’t know she was your- your girl.”

J waited, a heavy beat of silence passing between them as he made a show of considering that answer. 

“An honest mistake then,” he said at last, nodding solemnly as he held out his free hand, “what’s say we call it even, like gentlemen?”

The man was shaking like a shack in a storm, clammy fingers raising towards him.

**Bang.**

Without warning J fired into his hand, fingers flying off in a spray of blood as he whimpered and screamed.

Harley though, well he could see the fire in her eyes now. The smile back on her face as she clung onto his shoulder and squealed, “Do it again! Do it again!”

Wowzers! Nothing like a bit of blood shed and a beautiful woman to get the pulse racing. He was lining up his next shot, when the sound of guns being cocked made him glance up. Ozzy’s men pulled focus, aiming at him from all sides. Harley was instantly on alert, lighting up like a live wire as she dropped her hold on him and raised her knife instead.

“Alright Joker you’ve made your point,” Ozzy’s voice cut through the room, “put the gun away, please. I’d rather not have to scrub brains off my club floor.  _ Again.” _

He added that last word in a muttered undertone that had Harley giggling. 

J elbowed her and she dutifully shut up. _He_  cracked the jokes here.

“You gonna give me what I want, Pengles?” He called back, not taking his eyes off the pathetic sack of flesh in front of him.

“ _ Yes _ .” Ozzy said the word like it physically hurt him. “Just no more  _ shooting _ .”

J let the tension hold for a moment more, weighing up the instant gratification of blowing this guys skull open against the slow burn glory of fulfilling his plan. Sighing he clicked the safety back on and holstered his weapon. Harley standing down at his nod.

“Alright then, I’m a reasonable man,” he’d taken two steps away before he turned on his heel and stabbed the relieved looking fucker right through the eye socket with the knife he kept up his sleeve. “And that kids is why you never rub another man’s rhubarb!” he cackled, Harley in fits of giggles as he pulled her towards the exit, “Oh, don’t look at me like that Pengy, you didn’t say anything about not  _ stabbing _ him!”

Harley was still laughing as they fled the club, the address of Crane’s last sighting on a cocktail napkin in his pocket. 

“Thanks puddin’” she said softly, giggles fading as they climbed back into the car, “I’ve never had no one to defend my honour before.”

She curled up against his side, a familiar weight as her legs tangled with his. Her pointy little chin resting against his chest as he notched an arm around her. There was something weirdly  _ comforting _ about it, like the weight of a gun in his hand or the perfect balance of just the right knife. Familiar and yet totally  _ weird  _ to him as the streetlights strobed over head.

“You we’re doing a pretty good job before I got there,” he shrugged, not sure exactly what he was feeling as he looked down at her, “Where d’ya get that knife from, anyway?”

“Oh that,” she was grinning as she hitched up the hem of her dress, the milky stretch of thigh making something in him rumble as she revealed a garter belt ringed with folded knives. “Your Mistah Rosenberg thoughta everything, ya don’t even wanna know what he managed to get in my bra.”

_ Oh didn’t he now? _

His hand moved on its own, fingers trailing along the warm leather of the garter. Her breath hitched, eyes fluttering as he traced a pattern of diamonds across her thigh. 

The ache grew. Physical but  _ not _ , demanding and possessive and just plain strange. He understood her devotion, he might even be able to get behind her lust, but the way she looked at him now… it went beyond it all.

She looked at him like…

God he didn’t know. He didn’t know and he…

He  _ hated  _ it. 

Frustration snapped inside him, a high pitch whine in his ears as the car pulled up and he pushed her away. Hauling open the door before the motor had stopped running and marching into the hideout. The world was a puzzle he’d always been able to solve, always been able to see what made others tick.

Always known  _ himself. _

What the fuck was she doing to him? This wasn’t just blue balls anymore, Jesus Christ was she  _ drugging  _ him or something?

She followed him silently to the door of his room, looking at him uncertainly through sooty lashes as he hesitated on the threshold caught in the storm in his own head. Hate and lust and fascination and… fuck. A shudder ran through him as he made the decision. 

What was it they’d always said about curiosity? 

About  _ satisfaction. _

He held the door for her, waiting until she was inside before he turned on her. 

“You keep coming to me like this Harley,” his voice was pitched low, genuine curiosity and frustration grinding out of him as he tried to read her face, “looking at me like  _ that, why?” _

She looked down, colour creeping into her cheeks as she suddenly became fascinated by the carpet, “I think you know.”

“Honestly, I’m at a loose end,” he threw his hands up, fighting the urge to just cut the answer out of her, read it in her fucking entrails like he would with anyone else. Hell, he was about ready to slice himself open if it would make things any clearer, “ignorant as a babe in the woods here.”

Her eyes flickered up at last, bluer than a bottle of windex as they met his.

“Because I love you.”

“You-“ 

Well damn.

_ Damn. _

That shut him up. 

When was the last time he’d been speechless? God only knew but he sure was now, gaping like a drowning fish as he stared at her in silence.

She  _ loved  _ him? 

_ Him?  _

Holy shit she was so much more insane than he thought!

He wasn’t someone to be loved. Not ever. As a theory maybe, an  _ idea,  _ but not…  _ him _ . Whatever scraps of  _ him _ remained that was, the marrow-bone jelly centre in the middle of all his years of calcification. Bone hard and brittle, the thing he’d become after everyone he’d ever cared about had turned against him. 

After he’d stopped caring in return. 

He shook his head in disbelief, finding his voice at last, “ _ why?” _

Her brow creased sharply, eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms firmly across her chest. Flush faced and angry looking.

“Why does anyone love anyone Mistah J?” She pouted, even prettier than usual with her face all scrunched up, “because I do. Because I don’t know how to stop and… and even if I did I wouldn’t want too anyway.”

What the hell could he say to that? He felt almost  _ sad  _ for her as she glared at him with such determination it made his ribs tingle.

“I’m not the loving kind, kiddo.” He told her after the silence began to drag, shrugging his shoulders carelessly. 

“I know.” She replied, eyes dropping as she toyed with the hem of her dress with a dejected sigh, “but I love you anyway.”

So she did know then, she just didn’t care. Well, that was his Harley for you, he supposed, stubborn as a rock.

He reached out to her, fingers curling under her chin as he forced her to face him again with those fiercely vulnerable eyes. There was something heating under his skin, unbearably warm as it coiled around bone and sinew. A simmer boil of emotion that made the world go spinny and his back teeth grind together. 

Fresh need and old wants.

“Show me,” he jerked his chin, curiosity getting the better of him. Curiosity and the feel of her pulse beneath his fingertips. Hot hot hot.

“Mistah J?” She murmured, uncertain even as her pupils dilated like she’d been knocking back 'ludes.

He dragged her close, voice dropping two octaves without his permission. Crawling out of him in a growl as he looked into her and found something wonderful and fucking terrifying looking back. “ _ Show me. _ ”

She didn’t need telling twice. Well she did but - damn, fuck worth it. She jumped on him, her bare thighs hitching against him she tried to climb inside his skin. Kissing him like he had the antidote to everything that ailed her. Like he was the only thing left in the world.  

Lightning coursed through him, a deep set fire that he couldn’t put out as she squirmed, slender fingers pushing at his jacket with a huff of desperation. He cast it aside, nearly taking our a lamp in the process, shucking her dress up and grabbing at her hips. Pulling her flush against him. Tight enough to bruise. To mark. To  _ claim _ .

_ His _ .

She was  _ his _ .

He might not have been the loving kind, but he’d always been possessive as hell.

 

 

 


	5. This Ain't a Scene (It's an Arms Race)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't really care which side is winning,  
> As long as the room keeps singing that's just the business I'm in!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this one but we're back! This chapter is subtitled 'Mink can't restrain her Crane love and at this point she's not even trying' I just like the Crane/Harley friendship okay guys, I'm a TAS baby and it stuck with me! Plus Jon boy is a cutie and I will take any opportunity I can get to make J jealous :-P  
> Hope y'all like it, and I get to see ya in the comment section again real soon!  
> (P.S. all Doctor shop talk is 100% made up and means absolutely nothing irl ^^;)

 

She figured it would be intense but _damn._

Bruises coated her skin, perfect imprints of his fingers, his _teeth._ She ran her fingers across the bite mark at her collarbone, a hot shiver coursing through her as it _throbbed_.

He hadn’t treated her like a doll like some of her past conquests had, like some fragile blow up creation to be humped for two minutes before he fell asleep on top her. Oh no, when Mistah J did something he did it properly.

And cheese and crackers he’d done _her_ properly too.

It was clumsy and enthusiastic and all over the place in the best possible way. And even then, when she was going out of her mind with desire, making sounds like a squirrel in a mangle as she dug her nails into him, _even_ _then_ he still had the power to make her laugh. Her whole body convulsing with it as he took her up and down the hill like something out of a nursery rhyme.

She still couldn’t stop thinking about even as the van pulled to a halt, they’d all bundled in for another meet and greet with Gotham's underworld. This time however there was no elegant club or pounding music waiting for them as the doors were cracked open.

The were in a forest.

A really really _really_ spooky forest. There was a shack in the distance, wind chimes made of bones clinking on its front porch. It was a down right horror movie _cliche_ , all rotten wood and skeletal trees, a low fog creeping across the ground.

Harley shuddered.

“What, we gonna meet Leatherface out here or something?” She asked to cover her nerves as she jumped out of the van, the soft black loom swallowing the sound of her landing.

“More like Canvasface,” J snickered, his arm whipping out when she tried to step forward. It slammed into her ribs, knocking the wind out of her completely and sending her smack onto her ass in the dirt

“ _J,”_ she whined when she got her breath back, clambering to her feet with a glare, “What was _that_ for?”

“You’ll thank me in a minute,” he murmured to her, hand still poised to stop her getting any nearer as he whistled up Steve the Weasel and Carol, “go and announce us wouldcha, kids? Chop chop.”

The two henchies shrugged and headed into the dense forest. If they felt as squicked as she did they didn’t show it, only a faint sheen of sweat betraying their unease.

Harley was still rubbing her ribs when it began. A faint metallic click echoing through the forest as the fog grew with a hiss, billowing in murky yellow clouds and choking the distant figures.

That’s when the screaming started.

Carols hands clutched at her face, gouging angry red marks into her skin with her own nails. Fingers clawing deep into her flesh as she keened and wailed, incomprehensible as her eyes went wide enough Harley feared they’d burst right out.

Steve the Weasel was no better, he’d run into the trees, the harsh snap of branches marking his progress as he gurgled with fear.

The gun was in her hand in an instant, cold metal against her palm as she aimed at an enemy she couldn’t see. Instantly alert even as shivers ran down her spine, stomach churning as they howled with raw terror.

“Keep it in your pants, Harls,” J nudged the weapon down, seeming almost bored with the whole thing as he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “ _cut the shit Scary Mary! It’s just me!_ ”

The wood was perfectly still for a handful of heartbeats, only the awful whimpering filling the air as they waited.

Then the smoke cleared and door opened.

She’d been expecting a monster, a _nightmare,_ what she got was… well a man in a rumpled suit. He sighed dramatically, pinching his nose beneath his glasses as he gestured them towards him.

Checking in with J with a glance she took a step forward, then another, careful to keep by J’s side as they approached the stranger lest the murder fog returned. The stranger was taller even than J, _ridiculously_ tall really, and thin as a whip. Eyes flashing above cheekbones that could cut a girl as he beckoned them in.

“Joker.” He assessed them coolly, holding the door open to allow them entry. "To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?"

It was even stranger within, American Horror Story meets ER, half antique furniture half high tech lab equipment. A lesson in contradictions that had Harley’s eyes darting around like flies as they stepped inside.

“Scarebear,” J didn’t have any of her fascination, dropping into one of the rickety chairs like he owned the place, “hope you don’t mind the intrusion but I figured it was time to drop by, catch up. Harley this is Crane, aka the S _carecrowww_.” He dropped his voice into a growl, fingers tensing in claws as he swiped at the air.

She giggled without meaning too, some of the pressure easing from her spine at his easy mocking. Crane didn't find it as funny, his eyes narrowing sharply, pale blue and colder than a witches tit as they swept over them, cataloguing and dismissing them in a moment before he turned his back to them, “a pleasure I’m sure.”

Crane was very much the king of his own kingdom, not even J’s sharp smile seeming to frighten him. On the contrary he looked utterly blase as his attention flickered to one of the many black boards propped up around the room, each covered with notes and formulas she half remembered from her college days.

“Can’t win ‘em all, kid,” J muttered to her before rising to his feet with a theatrical groan and stepping after Crane, “since we’re here I may as well ask, you still making the _good stuff_ out here old chum?”

“You’re here for more toxin then,” Cranes expression didn’t change, even as his attention flickered back to J.

How could he not? Harley doubted there was a person on earth who could ignore J, he was too vital, too _present._ Her mind drifted without her permission, the bruise on her neck aching sweetly with very unprofessional memories. 

Swallowing hard she turned away, busying herself with looking at Cranes equations as J talked shop. It was fascinating in its own right, bringing up long forgotten lectures as she tried to make sense of it. She didn’t remember everything she'd learned but if what she saw was right…

“Don’t touch that.” A cold voice snapped as she raised her hand towards the board.

“Sorry,” she squeaked, dropping her hand like it had been burned as she turned to face their host, “I just never seen a base element used to spike adrenaline production before,”

Sharp eyes met hers, “yes, you have to use the tetrahycilate as-

“As a carrying agent,” she nodded, eyes flicking back to the formula, “it’s ingenious really.”

“Well… thank you,” he seemed taken aback by that, colour spotting high in his cheeks as he assessed her all over again, “I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.”

“Oh, I’m Harley!” She stuck out a hand with a winning smile, determined to make her best effort for all of J's... _friends_ , “Harley Quinn, pleased to meetcha!”

“You’re a pharmacologist, Miss Quinn?” His fingers were cold as they wrapped around hers, but not unpleasantly so. A stark contrast to Mistah J’s permanent fever.

“Nah,” she beamed, shaking her head at the curiosity in Crane’s eyes, “Psychiatrist, I did a coupla specialist papers about the subject when getting my MD though. You too huh?”

“PhD,” he corrected, long fingers flexing as he drew away, “via correspondence.”

"How didcha get the idea to-"

J cleared his throat so loudly Harley nearly fell over again, cutting the sentence off dead as he stepped into their orbit like a meteor, just as ready to kill the dinosaurs,  “If you _nerds_ are quite finished?”

His brows had furrowed again, a sharp glint in his gaze that spoke of danger.

“Yessir,” she squeaked, stepping back and letting him take the floor. She wasn’t here to steal his spotlight after all, no no this was his show. She was just here to help.

“Now, as I was saying,” J sighed, dragging her into his side and looping an arm around her shoulder. She leant into him, lips sealed even as he toyed with the neckline of her shirt. Swallowing down a gasp as he traced underneath it, circling the bite mark on her collarbone with the very tippy tip tips of his fingers.

It was like being touched by a live wire. Sharp little shocks of pleasure shot through her, curling her toes even as she fought to look nonchalant. Composed.

J grinned like he knew exactly what he was doing to her, eyes flashing darkly as he met the taller man’s gaze, “can you do it, Scarebear?”

Cranes lips thinned into nothingness, face turning impassive again as his eyes flickered over them. “I can. For a price.”

“Boo!” J crowed, “come on then, whaddya want? Cash, cards, _new_ _sack_?”

The way he said it had Harley stifling another giggle. He stopped teasing her all at once, something she was simultaneous very grateful for and absolutely heartbroken about as he pulled away from her. Her skin itching like a junkie as she trailed behind him.

It was so like him to get her motor running and then walk away like he’d forgotten she was there at all. And damn her to hell it just seemed to make her love him _more_ for it.

“Fifty thousand.” Crane snapped, “to fund my research. And some _staff_ to help with the preparations. Five or six of your men should do.”

“Fine fine, treat em right though, Scarebear, they’re good kids!”

Crane turned away from them, pulling out a drawer with a studied look and rifling through its contents.

“I suppose your… _partner_ will need this, too _.”_ The vial was bright green, almost glowing in the dim light as he clicked it into an injector gun, “unless you’ve already been immunised… ?”

She shook her head, checking with J before she stepped forward.

“Wouldn’t want your lovely assistant losing her mind now would you, Joker?” Crane asked, a note of derision in his tone as he swabbed the crook of her elbow with disinfectant.

“Eh,” J shrugged, sauntering after them casually, “what’s left to lose?”

She turned her head at that, sticking her tongue out at J even as she fought the urge to grin. He snapped his teeth at her in response, setting her giggling all over again.

“You may feel some discomfort,” Crane sighed, clicking a clean needle into place, “and experience some temporary impairment to your mental facilities, rather like drinking too much or taking something… _altering_.”

“Oooh party!” She was smiling right up until the moment the needle hit her skin. The automatic mechanism hissing as it unloaded into her veins like rabid jelly.

“ _Motherfucker_ ,” she swore, shaking her arm when Crane released her. The strange, heavy substance turned electric in her veins, her whole body tensing in a wildfire rush as it worked through her.

 _Eek_.

 

—-

 

“That normal, Doc?” J asked as Harley’s pupils blew up to the size of manhole covers. Her whole body shaking as she blinked unseeing at the room.

A trace of unease ran through him, something he might have mistaken for worry as she stared blankly at her hands for a moment or two. He’d put so much work into her it would have been a flat out waste if sack head ruined it now.

It would also have been suicidal of him.

“It’s a reaction to the adrenaline compound,” Crane nodded, taking the empty vial from the gun and returning everything to its rightful place, “it will pass in a moment. Doctor Quinn -“ he snapped his fingers in front of her face, some of the contempt leaving his voice as he waved his hand in front of her, “Harley let it go. It’s okay now.”

He didn’t like that. The softening of Crane’s voice as he leant towards her. Nope he didn’t like that at _all_.

She looked up at him through her lashes, lips parting in wonder as she seemed to come back to reality, “Ya got real pretty eyes, ya know that doc?”

Oh he _reaaaaaaally_ didn’t like that.

Stepping forward he yanked on her pigtail, _hard_ , forcing her attention back to him as Crane started back. The bastard had the audacity to _blush,_ at _his_ girl _._

“Owww ow ow!” She squealed before she registered him, “Oh! Mistah J!” Her frowny face softened, red lips pursed as she pouted up at him, “whatcha do that for?”

“You’re scaring the Scarecrow there Harls, time to focus up.”

“Awww Sorry Scarecrow,” she didn’t look around, waving a hand vaguely at Crane even as her gaze darted over him, remembering her place apparently, “your eyes are prettier anyway Mistah J, like lil’ planets.”

“Maybe I’ll pop one out for you for Christmas,” he loosened his grip on her hair, twirling his fingers through the strands instead as his rage ebbed, “put it on a keychain.”

She looked at him blankly for a full ten seconds.

Then she started laughing, _howling,_ clutching her sides as she broke out in huge peals of it. Like music.

Crane was instantly alert, sharp eyes becoming needles as he grabbed her face, turning it to the light as he scoured her expression for signs of change, “She shouldn’t be reacting to the laughing compound in the-“

“Oh don't panic Wicker Man,” He yanked Crane’s fingers loose, pulling Harley back to his chest with a smug smile as her laughter vibrated through him, “that’s _all_ Harley.”

“A _keychain_ !” She wheezed, hiccuping as she ducked her head against his chest, “That’s what I - what I love about you Mistah J, you- you always know how to make a gal _laugh_!”

“Is _that_ what you love about me Harls?” He played it up, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips with a wet smack, his smugness growing as her breath hitched at the contact, her smile turning filthy as she gazed up at him.

“That and that thing you did last night with your-“

“Now now, Harley-kins,” He pressed a finger to her lips before she could launch into a remembrance of the evening before, swallowing a groan as her tongue snaked out, lips sliding over him to the second knuckle, “ _company.”_

“Sorry Mistah J,” she purred, the sound hot-wiring itself directly to his not-so-soft-and-squishies as she released him. Slipping herself into his arms instead, her hands wrapped tight around his waist as she laid her head against his chest, “I’ll be good, _promise.”_

“Highly doubtful.”

Ohhh there was nothing good about his girl, there was straight up _excellence._ Last night had been a minor revelation. He’d never gotten it before, the urge to get naked and bump uglies up against someone else but Harley… she made it into an art. A messy, disgusting, chaotic art that had him laughing and groaning in turn as she proved her devotion to him over and over again.

And over.

 _And_ _over._

“If that’s all,” Crane’s face had gone angry red, J could practically feel the heat coming off it as he stomped away from them. “I’ll expect the money and the men tomorrow, your _product_ will be ready within the fortnight.”

“Peachy keen.”

Served him right the lanky bastard, Harley was alllll his and he wasn’t about to share. Especially not with some basement dweller in a burlap bag, even if they did both speak geek.

Still Crane had his use, and they would have their toxin. Now they just had a fortnight to fill before they could advance to phase two of operation Holiday Madness.

Maybe he could do something nice for her in the meantime, show his _appreciation,_ it was the first of December tomorrow after all. Perhaps it was time to spruce the hideout up a bit, she seemed to like that shit...

 

—-

 

This was why they made such a big deal about not doing drugs.

Although Harley doubted they had highly un-tested laughing gas inoculations in mind when they talked about it. Jeez there was a new PSA for them, just say no to the glowing green stuff kids.

Bud was licking her face, dog breath rocketing through her aching head as she struggled up from the pillows. She was still wearing half of yesterday’s clothes, crinkled beyond recognition and smudged with makeup.

“Not now baby,” she mumbled, mouth full of sand as she pushed him away, “momma’s gotta hangover.”

Lou scrambled up at her voice, the two of them vying for her attention as she groaned. Resting her forehead against her knees she patted at them distractedly, content to stay in bed.

_THUMP._

The hideout shook, the sound vibrating up through the bed and making the dogs yelp as her head shot up.

“What the-“

_THUMP. Draaaaaaaag. THUMP._

“Fuck.” Teeth snapping together Harley pushed herself out of bed, barely pausing to yank her boots on and pick up her Glock before she was heading for the stairs.

Someone was shouting on the ground floor, raised voices drifting up towards her as she pounded downwards towards with the thumping and banging.

“ _Left! Your other left you uneducated ballbag!_ ”

Forehead creasing in two Harley kicked open the door to the main room, head still pounding as she faced the scene.

“What the hell is going on down… here…”

She trailed off, staring around in wonder as Mistah J jumped towards her. Hands raised as he hurried to cover her eyes.

“Don’t look you’ll ruin the surprise.”

She giggled as he clapped his palm across her face, tucking her gun into the waistband of her pants... well his boxers technically, they'd been closest to hand, before reaching up to pull his hand away so she could gape around the room again.

It was _beautiful._ Tinsel hanging from every surface, fairy lights twinkling at random from the ceiling, and right there in the corner of the room was the biggest freaking tree she’d ever seen.

_Huge._

Gigantasaurous-rex!

It was so tall the top branches were bent double against the ceiling, every branch hanging with ornate baubles and elegant tinsel strings. It was like one of those ones they put up in the fancy shopping streets uptown, all gold and red and green. Wait… she squinted at the ragged saw marks on the base of the trunk and the torn out wires… it _was_ one of the ones from uptown.

“Well?” J was practically vibrating behind her, grinning like an eager kid as he waved at the display, “d’ya like it?”

“I _love it,”_ she wasn’t gonna cry, she wasn’t, oh damn she was crying. Happy tears spilling down her cheeks as she hurled herself into J’s arms, “it’s perfect!”

“Anything my girl wants,” he patted her messy hair, a laugh in his voice as he spun her around, “my girl gets! And look - I had to ask ugh… whassis name, Tall Guy, if it was the right thing but dun-da-da-dunnnn…”

He let her down, flourishing his arms at the mantelpiece. Harley stepped forward, the lump in her throat becoming a diamond as she saw his piece-de-resistance, a shiny gold menorah in pride of place in the middle of it all on the mantelpiece.

For _her_.

He said he wasn’t the loving kind but at times like this… well, whatever he _was_ she’d sure take it.

She rained kisses onto his face, squealing as he dipped her in the middle of the scene. The henchies filing out with a single wave of his hand.

This was just for them.

“This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me, y’know that.” She breathed, fingers dancing across his scars as he grinned down at her, “Who needs Santa when they got you, Mistah J?”

His gaze turned wicked, madness sparking like a Catherine wheel in his eyes, “You can sit on my knee any day, doll.”

And with that they were laughing all over again.

This really was going to be a holiday to remember.

  
  



	6. Novocaine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me, I'm just a son of a gun  
> So don't stop, don't stop 'til your heart goes numb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thanks so much for continuing to read and comment on this thing - it means the wooorld to me! :D  
> This one's subtitled 'Mink Revises Gotham's History Entirely' aka 'I'm Very Sorry for What I've Done (especially to you, Kachina - you know why :-P)'  
> Now on with the show!

 

 

The hideout was filled with flat pack gift boxes.

_ Thousands  _ of them.

“Where’dya even get these from?” She held one up, peering at its shiny green-and-purple pattern. Diamonds,  _ classy. _

“Same place everyone does,” J shrugged, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he tinkered with something mechanical, “some factory in China. Amazing what you can get on the internet these days.”

Grabbing a handful of the flat cardboard boxes she pulled up a chair at his side, careful to keep her stuff out of his area as she began to fold them. They’d been kicking about for over a week now, pulling minor heists and getting things ready. A few days of planning and preparation, some trips to knock over a bank, a hardware store, and her favourite, to steal a motorised float with a sleigh on it from the city lock up. A beautifully ugly neon thing with plastic reindeer stuck to the front that usually rode in pride of place in the Thanksgiving day parade.

Now they just had to get the special presents ready for the big day. Which meant assembling a thousand flat pack gift boxes she guessed, welp better get down to it.

“Y’dont have to do that, kid,” J glanced up as she pressed the sides together, pulling the little adhesive tabs off to get it to stick, “we got a gang for the grunt stuff, remember?”

“I know,” she shrugged, carefully assembling the lid and fluffing the bow already stuck to it, “but I don’t mind. There’s something kinda satisfying about it.”

“Weirdo,” he said affectionately, making her beam as she started the next, falling into companionable silence as they worked on the their projects. The TV opposite playing some old Christmas movie as a fire crackled in the grate.

She wasn’t sure what she imagined true contentment to feel like, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever known it, but she had a sneaking suspicion it might be  _ this.  _ No mayhem or murder needed, no knife edge adrenaline or ball-busting fear, just him and her and a shared space.

“I wonder what my sister’s doing,” she said without meaning too after an endless stretch of peaceful silence. Not a question, not really, just thinking out loud as the toothsome kid on TV was reunited with his family just in time for the holidays. Mom, dad, three kids and a dog, all standing beneath a picture perfect tree as the snow fell.

Was it really just a short few months ago she was talking to Laurie about her own holiday plans?

Yeesh, she’d been willing to do just about anything to get out of it then. Apparently up to and including falling in love with a murderer and going on the run. Life was funny like that.

“You got siblings, Harls?” J glanced up at last, stretching out his shoulders as he set his work aside, a dozen dozen perfect little mechanisms for mayhem lined up in front of him, “Y’never mentioned them before.”

“Yup,” she nodded, fiddling with one of the bows as something heavy settled in her chest, “a sister and a brother. But they were much older than me, they’d already left the house when I was growing up. I always wished we’d been closer in age though.” Abandoning the boxes she rested her chin on her hand, looking through a distant haze as the family on the screen hugged and sang together, “it must be nice to have someone to go through it all with, ya know? To share the shit with.”

“Eh, ‘sprobably overrated,” J muttered from beside her, going back to his work, “better to be an only child I always thought. Even if you had to do it yourself.”

She snorted but the wistfulness had its hold on her now, nebulous but undeniable as she watched the credits roll. All those beatings she’d taken, the fights she’d hidden from, she’d gone through it all alone. Things could have been so different.

“I think it would be nice,” she sighed at last, trying to shake her sudden melancholy, “like having an in built friend y’know? Someone who knew exactly what it was really like… Someone who’d have your back no matter what.”

“The only thing they’d do to your back is  _ stab  _ you in it,” his tone was so dark her chin fell from her hand, blinking in shock as she turned to look at him. Clouds had gathered behind his eyes, true black and terrifying, “then turn your family against you and vanish off the face of the earth. Assholes _.” _

Holy shit the way he said it was vicious.

_And_ _specific_. 

Her chest tightened, unease congealing in her veins as she gazed at him. Her psychiatric instincts were on overdrive as she watched the muscle in his jaw jump. He looked away from her sharply. Nothing in the files she’d read at the Asylum said anything about him having siblings, but then so much of it had been erased or redacted… it hadn’t really said anything about  _ anything _ .

She tried to imagine it, someone like him… a sister maybe, or a brother with that same red hair he had when she’d first met him. The same perfect blue-green eyes. 

It was almost more than her brain could handle.

“Mistah J?” She pressed softly as the silence lingered, the question already half formed on her tongue as she reached towards him. Something had changed in him, something...

“Drop it,” he cut her off before the words could fall, final as the grave as he dropped the mechanism he was working on and kicked his chair out from under the table, “Old news. How about some dinner?”

“Sure,” she agreed, brain on a five second delay as she struggled up after him. Trailing him as he headed for the kitchen, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

What the hell had happened to him?

 

—-

 

Old news. That’s what it was.

Old news he hadn’t thought about in  _ years. _

So why was it back now? Crawling around in his brain like a hungry rat as he banged about in the cupboards for something edible. Jesus fuck would it kill them to get something other than power bars and beer in once in a while?

Not that it mattered. None of it mattered.

Not  _ Jerome  _ or  _ Jeremiah  _ or whoever the fuck else had been slapped with a shitty name by a shitty mother in a goddamn shitty life.

No. No no no. He was a man without all that now.

A man without a family.

And the other Valeska son, well he’d made his choice. Disappearing off the face of the earth after he’d completed his fancy schooling with his rich adopted parents money. He was probably on a tropical island somewhere, or at the bottom of a river. 

God he hoped it was the river.

The thought made his hands curl, angry heat simmering in his bones. Years. J had wasted  _ years  _ searching for him, determined to get some payback for what he’d done to him, to share the madness. 

Oh yeah he had  _ plans,  _ plans on top of plans! He was gonna drive him so far off the edge he’d never see the light again. Scramble that big old brain their mother had such high hopes for and then  _ choke him to death on it. _

The image was sugar sweet behind his eyes, how he’d squeeze and squeeze and  _ squeeze  _ until precious Jeremiah abandoned his grip on life as easily as he’d abandoned his own brother.

The vision shattered, broken by cold hard reality as the facts slammed back in. 

He was gone, vanished without a trace, and life had kept on turning. He’d been hurled into a big old vat of chemicals and that was that.

He was the Joker now.

The Joker didn’t have a past. 

He didn’t  _ want  _ one.

Now if only Harley would stop looking at him with those limpid fucking eyes as he rifled through the back of the cupboards everything could go back to abnormal.

“Y’know Mistah J-”

_ Don’tdon’tdon’tdon’t. _

Her voice was too  _ soft,  _ too fucking understanding as she trailed up behind him in the kitchen. Probably trying to psychoanalyze him as she approached, to peer into all his deep and dirty secrets and use them against him. Maybe she’d talk to  _ Crane  _ about it afterwards, they could get all doctorly about it together. Have a good  _ laugh _ .

She did love to laugh after all.

Apart from now apparently, that rose petal mouth of hers turned down like the bed in a fancy hotel. It wouldn’t do.

“Why the long face, Harls?” He slammed the cupboard shut so hard it rattled through him as he turned on her, coldness knifing through him at her downcast expression, “Smile wouldcha.”

“You know… you know you can talk to me right?” she half-whispered, so unsure, so  _ compassionate. _

And she still  _ wasn’t _ smiling.

He couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the fact some chicken shit weak ass part of him  _ wanted  _ to tell her. To rant and rave and fall to his knees next to her, to let her soothe away the pain with those gentle hands and understanding eyes.

But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

She was looking for weakness and he was a man without it.

Without  _ anything. _

And he’d given her an order.

“I told you to smile, Harley.” the kitchen knife was in his hand, he didn’t remember picking it up but there it was. A gift from fate.

“ _ J-” _

She wouldn’t learn would she? No, she needed to be  _ shown _ . To be reminded exactly who it was she thought she could understand. He’d been too lenient with her, that was his fault, but now it was high time she learnt the truth.

If she was going to lie down with a rabid dog...

His hand found her neck, fingers squeezed tight around that slender little column as the knife gleamed under the fluorescents. Comforting and real as she stared up at him.

“No no no,” he shushed her, voice coming out low and threatening as he  _ squeezed _ , “I said  _ smile _ .”

She shuddered but didn’t move away, even as fear clouded her eyes. Fear and that  _ other _ thing. The thing that had his insides crunching up like tin foil even as one corner of her mouth quirked up in a pathetic little shaky smile.

“Not good enough Harls,” he growled, caressing her cheek with the sharp edge of the blade as her pulse hammered against his fingers, “here- let me help you…”

She drew in a shaky breath, tense beneath him but standing firm.

“Do it,” she said, voice only trembling a little as she met his gaze. She didn’t look away, not for a second, even as he pressed the knife against that plump lower lip of hers, “Do it if you want to, it won’t change anything. I’ll still love you."

“Sure ya will,” he muttered.

She was either a liar or an  _ idiot _ . 

He was not someone to be loved, not now not ever. Not from her, not from them, not from his own fucking flesh and blood. His mirror image. They all left in the end. She gasped ever so slightly as his fingers clenched tight, blue eyes black with fear now.

He needed to  _ show _ her, to give her a  _ permanent _ reminder.

The knife slipped almost too easily between her lips, cherry red and parted on a gasp as he tilted her head, firm and uncompromising as he worked. He clenched his fist to keep it steady, teeth gritted hard as he pressed it to the corner of her mouth, dragging it across her cheek.

It was ragged and harsh and so so  _ easy.  _ A razor blade through silk.

“There now,” he muttered, eyes bright and burning as the blood began to spill. “Everyone looks better with a  _ smile.” _

Harley didn’t say a word, the only sound was the rough gasp of her breath hyperventilating through her chest as he admired his handiwork. The deep slash he’d made on one side of her perfectly symmetrical face bleeding like a fountain.

Another thing he’d ruined.

Fat tears slipped from her eyes, but she didn’t flinch away. Perfectly still as the knife clattered to the floor between them.

Something hot ached in his throat, a coal he couldn’t swallow as she looked at him unblinkingly. The maimed smile making a mockery of her expression even as her shirt turned black with blood. His fingers were still sticky with it, the warmth cooling rapidly against his skin.

He turned away without another word, marching from the room and slamming the door behind him before she could follow. 

As _ if  _ she would follow.

 

—-

 

_ Focus on the needle. _

Harley’s hands were sticky and shaking as she tried to thread it over and over again. Nothing in med school had prepared her for this, no cadaver work, no ER shift in the dead of night in the middle of city.

She’d seen horror, sure, she’d sewn flesh.

But never in the mirror. Never her own _. _

She’d hurried up to her room after he’d left, clutching a bag of frozen peas to the the wound with one hand and hauling a half empty bottle of vodka with the other. The last thing she wanted to do was make a scene if any of the gang returned before him. No, she had to focus, had to fix herself before the shock got any worse.

She swayed on her feet, trying desperately to keep herself upright as she got the needle threaded at last, tying off the end with her teeth and stabbing it into her skin.

The needle and thread had come from the back of the medicine cabinet, one of those tiny sewing kits hotels sometimes left for guests, abandoned there like it was waiting for her. Branded with the Laughing Fish logo. Why  _ did  _ they leave those things in rooms anyway? Were people constantly losing buttons on the road or something?

Maybe it was something to do with all the hanky panky that went on in hotels, flies flying open buttons flying off…

_ Focus! Five more stitches, Quinzel.  _ She snapped at herself in Professor Irving’s voice as her mind drifted,  _ it’s like riding a bicycle. _

A bicycle whose pedals were sharp metal going through her swollen, sensitive skin. The vodka still burnt where she’d sloshed it against the wound in an attempt at sterilisation.

He hadn’t gone all the way through though, deep but not deep enough to sever the muscles. That was a bonus. Her Orbicularis Oris seemed intact.

They called it the kissing muscle.

_ Stop thinking and sew! Three more stitches, nice and even now. _

She curved the needle carefully, wincing at her reflection. The last thing she wanted was a wonky scar after all. Although J made it work. J...

_ One more. Do it! _

The bag of frozen peas was slowly melting beside her, the wrapper unrecognisable through the red as she fought to keep her footing. To concentrate as her flesh sucked and popped around the needle again.

_ Now tie that shit off and you’re done. _

Her hands trembled as she knotted the thread, the peas almost slipping from her grasp as she picked them up again, pressing them back to her face. She looked at herself for one long, unsteady second in the mirror before turning away in disgust. Sinking to the tiled floor as the pain radiated through her whole body with a hot, guilty throb.

She shouldn’t have pushed so hard, she could see he was struggling with something he didn’t want to talk about but she’d shoved on anyway. Brutish. Tactless.  _Stupid._   For someone so smart she could be pretty fucking dense sometimes. 

Her hand shook as she pulled the vodka towards her, nerves screaming as she swigged clumsily from the bottle. Half of it spilling down her chin as she tried to numb herself.

She shouldn’t have pushed.

Whatever had happened to him… she couldn’t even imagine it. She’d never seen anything like  _ that  _ in his eyes before. Pain, actual pain. Something so deep she doubted he even knew it was still there himself. Someone had hurt him, cut him to the bone, and she’d gone and made it worse.

The dogs were scratching at the door, she could hear Lou yelping to be let in but she couldn’t muster up the energy to move. She tilted her head back against the ice cold tile, letting it wash through her as the tears began again. Salt water stinging her smile as she let herself begin to drift at last, giving into the peaceful numbness of shock as she thought again about that almost sadness she’d seen in his gaze.

She wondered if anyone had ever seen the Joker cry.

 


	7. Grand Theft Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where is your boy tonight?  
> I hope he is a gentleman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And weeee're back!  
> This chapter is subtitled 'Well That was a Dick Move, J' :-P thanks for sticking with me kids! See you cool folks in the comments ;-P

 

It was amazing how much brighter everything looked after a good meal and bit of bloodshed. He’d stopped by a diner on the wrong side of the narrows, an anonymous little place with neon lights and tacky plastic booths. 

Bright and disgusting and smelling like home sweet home.

The company had been a problem though. The midnight junkies and bar hoppers gawping up from the counter when he’d strolled it.

No no no he’d wanted to be  _ alone  _ with his busy thoughts. Mano a mano with his brain.

Still it was nothing a shotgun and a bit of creativity couldn’t fix. Although theeeen the chef had started screaming and crying and ‘don’t hurt me‘-ing, ugh really. Just cook the damn food huh?

But hey, they’d gotten there in the end. That was the important thing. And sure enough, two eggs sunny side up and a bacon smile later and he was back to his usual good humour. 

Hell, he was practically whistling when he stepped back into the hideout, a brown paper bag swinging in his hand. He’d brought some of those hash browns she liked back for the little lady, show there was no ill will between them. So he could be a bit of a drama queen when he got hangry, it happened to the best of them! It was all blood under the bridge now, lesson learned, time to move on.

Only she wasn’t in their room.

Sighing to himself he dropped the greasy take-out bag on the side and headed back into the hall. She was still mad then. Well, that was women for you. 

He nearly tripped over the mutts, the mangy animals curled up outside of her closed door. Something in him twinged, a jangly little bell ringing in the back of his skull, it wasn’t like her to shut them out. They went wherever she did, jeez, he had to put them out of their room by force most nights and even then nine times out of ten he’d wake up to find she’d let them back in again. Big ugly brutes tucked neatly around their feet like furry hot water bottles.

It wasn’t like her at all.

Nudging Bud aside with his foot he hammered on the door, “open up Harls, I brought dinner.”

The silence echoed, punctuated by a whine as the dogs looked up him, all big eyed and droopy looking.

“Tell it to your mother,” he snapped at them, gesturing to the closed door, “she’s the one who shut you out.”

_ Us out. _

The dog didn’t reply, for obvious reasons. J gritted his teeth.

“Fine, I'll do it then.” Waving them back he flexed his fingers and grabbed the handle ready to force his way in. He tripped over himself as it gave easily under his grasp.

Not locked at all then.

Straightening up and trying to look cool he cast his eyes around the room, it was empty aside from her extensive wardrobe, everything else having slowly migrated to his room. The bed was untouched but the bathroom light was on, bright white spilling out from the half-open door and illuminating the trail of bloodstains on the carpet.

“Your dogs are sulking,” he called, pulse just a little bit off key as he crossed towards the light, “don’t take your anger out on them or we’ll never hear the end of it. Harley?  _ Harls. _ ”

Why wasn’t she answering? Was it pettiness? Or was it…

His chest tightened, a harsh kick in his gut as the door opened with a touch. 

_ "Whoops _ ."

She was curled up on the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Pale as paper apart from the red ink smile he’d scribbled over one half of her face, now all neatly stitched up with black thread. Swearing to himself he crouched down beside her, fingers clumsy as he hunted for a pulse.

“Don’t do this to me now kiddo,” he grunted, tapping at her face, “it’s  _ not _ _funny._ ”

Her blue eyes fluttered, glazed over with pain and disorientation and nearly knocking him flat on his ass with a single blink. Relief, that was the word for it, a surprising amount of the feeling crashing through him as he brushed his fingers against her forehead, gently moving her hair away from her face.

“ _ Jae _ ?”

Oh thank fuck she was alive! He’d wanted to teach her a lesson, not straight up murder the girl.

Besides, he  _ really  _ wasn’t ready to be a single dog-parent again yet.

“‘Sid bed’ime ye’?” Her words were soft and slurred, the stitches making them almost unintelligible as she tried to smile at him. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, not quite able to look at her as he gathered her up in his arms, “it’s bedtime.”

“Noh mad anymoh?” The mumbled comment went through him like a broken bottle as she leant her head against his shoulder. 

“No, Harley girl,” he sighed, resting his head against hers as he kicked the door open with his foot, shooing the dogs away as he carried her back to their room, “you know I can never stay mad at you.”

 

—-

 

They didn’t talk about it the next day, but Harley knew he was sorry. She could feel it in the way he pressed a delicate kiss to her forehead in the morning, how he stocked up the freezer with ice cream and smoothies and shot Ugly Dave when he found him eating them. 

By the time the week had rolled by it was almost as if it hadn’t happened. Well apart from the constant throbbing pain of course, but love always hurt, didn’t it?

That’s what made it worthwhile.

Still she was grateful when he announced that Doctor Crane had finished his work and it was time to pick up their goods. 

“Looks like the masked muppet has finally finished our Christmas haul,” he cackled, straightening his bow tie as he rose from the couch, “Jeff get the van! We gotta pick up.”

“Lemme grab my coat.” She’d gotten used to talking out of the right side of her mouth, adjusting accordingly as she found her feet, “I wanna word with the doc anyway.”

He might not have been a medical doctor but Crane’s skill in pharmacology almost guaranteed he’d have some antibiotics or something lying around. Something to help fend off the infection she’d begun to worry was taking root in her lopsided smile. Laney has done her best helping her sterilise it with the hideouts supplies the day after the…  _ incident.  _ But she still thought it needed more.

She just hoped Crane would share.

Mistah J had gone perfectly still, gaze landing on her like a fist as he lifted a brow, “do you now?”

Her heart rolled over, swallowing down the sharp taste of bile as she smiled at him until she thought her stitches would break. She was being ridiculous but so was he, s haking her head at him she kept her expression bright, pushing lightly at his chest as she headed for the door.

“Shop talk, puddin’,” she teased, making a joke of it, ”why,  _ jealous _ are we?”

He chuckled, pulling her in before she could get away from him and nuzzling her hair, setting her heart racing again for a much nicer reason, “maybeeee. You’re a one man woman now, Harls.”

“Always was,” she had to bite her tongue to keep from grinning at his affection, calm sweeping through her as she narrowed her eyes at him instead, “but it goes both ways, big shot.”

He looked aghast, dropping her all at once and clutching at his chest, “I never agreed to that! Think about the lines of disappointed boys and girls tryna get on this funride, how could you deny them?!”

Scrunching up her nose she pinched him, “ _ Jayyyy. _ ”

“Fine fine fine,” he sighed, draping an arm around her shoulder as they headed for the door, “you’re the only bread in my basket baby girl, you know that.”

Damn right she was!

Still, she waited until J had rounded up the gang to load the barrels before approaching Crane, no sense putting more of a bee in his bonnet then she had to. She didn’t want to provoke another... well, they could all do with a drama free week, huh? __ The good doctor was standing in the doorway of his shack, thin arms folded tightly across his chest as he watched the action unfold with distaste.

“Hey uh, Doctor Crane?” She cleared her throat awkwardly “you gotta minute?” 

He snapped around like he’d been shocked.

“What? Oh, Harley, of course,” she saw the way his gaze lingered on the huge white bandage slapped across her cheek. Mistah J hadn’t said anything when she’d taped it up, only whipped out his trusty red sharpie and drawn a half-smile over it instead, kissing her sweetly when he was finished, “What can I do for you?”

“I know you’re not an M.D. but…” a blush throbbed beneath her skin as she gestured with as much of a smile as she could at the elephant in the room. Well, on her face at least. “I could use an assist from someone who didn’t get their degree from clown school.”

“Say no more, this way please,” she followed him as he walked inside, admiring the busy formulas and plans coating the wall to keep from thinking as he gestured for her to take a seat, “a PHD in pharmacology has a few perks. This is a formula of my own design, it rapidly increases the healing of flesh wounds. I came up with it after a particularly…  _ challenging  _ encounter with the bat.”

Relief had never been sweeter.

“You’re a real brain y’know that Doc,” she let him tilt her head towards the light, not sure why she kept trusting him to stab her with things but going with it anyway. She’d always had good instincts about people.

Besides, she was too grateful for his help to much care.

“Jonathan,” he said, brow creasing as he stepped back to load the injector gun. This time the liquid was silvery blue, like holographic nail polish.

“Jonathan,” she repeated, wincing as she tried to smile again automatically, “this one’s not gonna make me daffy again is it? I mean, not complaining but I’m gonna need a warning if it’s a one ticket trip to laughsville.”

“No, it shouldn’t be a problem,” he almost smiled, mouth twitching as he clicked the needle into place and tilted her chin again, removing the bandage for her carefully, “it’ll feel a bit cold, not entirely pleasant, but it’s the least mind altering of my inventions.”

The gun hissed, slow steady shots as he carefully injected all around the area. True to his word it didn’t kick like the last one, ice instead of fire. Minty fresh and painful but in a  _ good  _ way. Invigorating even.

“There,” satisfied with his work he stepped back, letting Harley press wondering fingers against the pleasantly numb area. Already she could feel the throbbing stop, the hot-flush of pain retreating like shadows from a spotlight as the skin began to knit together in earnest.

“Thanks,” she could almost smile properly now, face only aching a little as she hopped up from the chair. “You’re a lifesaver, I really didn’t wanna try and knock over a hospital on my lonesome.”

“Not a problem,” Jonathan didn’t look up as he dismantled the gun. Placing everything back in its exact spot ever so carefully, there was no chaos in his work space. “ _ He _ did it, didn’t he?”

The casual question caught her off guard, her hand falling back to her side as her stomach twisted. That hot cold feeling somewhere between guilt and shame rolling through her again.

“‘Maybe,” she looked away, scuffing the toe of her boot against the concrete floor, “maybe I did it to myself.”

“Why?” Ice blue eyes met hers at last, so pale they were almost transparent.

Because she’d been stupid. She’d pushed too hard. Because J was hurt. He was angry with her.

_ Because because because... _

She shrugged, “Maybe we're all just a little crazy in love.”

He snorted at that, clicking his case shut and gesturing her ahead.

She clasped her hands in front of her as they headed back towards the surface, it was probably for the best. She didn’t want Mistah J to get the wrong idea after all.

“The Joker isn’t capable of love,” Jonathan said quietly as they reached the threshold of his hideout, half cold, half kind, “you’re smart enough to know that.”

The boys were loading the last barrel into the van, she could see the sweat on their brows from here. Hear J cajoling them to do better, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow as he helped haul it up. Even here, in this most mundane of mundane situations, he was almost too much to look at. To look away from. 

And all hers.

“Well if he isn’t, I guess I’ll just have to love enough for the both of us then.” Turning she tilted her head up at the bony criminal, letting the seriousness fall away in one breath as she grinned, “thanks again for the help Jon-boy! I owe ya one.”

He only shook his head, watching from the door as she skipped back towards her gang like nothing had happened.

Maybe it hadn’t.


	8. Hum Hallelujah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day we'll get nostalgic for disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay there kiddos - but here we are back at it again!  
> I hope you enjoy this penultimate chapter, and as always I hope to see y’all in the comments if ya do! <333

J felt like a kid at Christmas.

Well an escaped maniac at Christmas but it was practically the same thing, hyped up on adrenaline and excitement as he went through the plan over and over with a permanent grin. Of course he _always_ had a permanent grin but hey… He really _felt_ it now. A pageant kid on pixie sticks as the days ticked by. 

Maybe because it was his _first_ , and they said you always remembered that. His first big shiny traditionally corporate commercial holiday bonanza. After all, there hadn’t been much time for celebratin’ in the long forgotten days of yor. Nope, whilst most carnies spent at least a coupla months in some hell hole in the ass crack of Florida recuperating, Haley’s Circus was a different kettle of festive fish.

No rest for the wicked, not when they could wring every last cent from the punters alllll yeeear rooound.

And then there were those years in Arkham where Christmas meant a soggy bit of turkey flavoured mush on his tray and Tetch warbling out Christmas themed rhymes twenty four seven. Yeesh.

The other times he’d been too busy to really pay attention to it.

Now though… now he was seeing it through fresh eyes! A beautiful blood red filter over the festivities that promised nothing but _chaos_ for the good girls and boys of Gotham. Now he could celebrate whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, with whoever he wanted.

Carols filled the hideout, the kids all dressed in their Christmas sweaters as the weeks of December rolled by.  His had a holiday T-Rex on his, Harley of course had managed to find the ugliest Hanukkah sweater she could.

Ahhh Hanukkah, that had been an experience! If he was a beginner at Christmas he’d been a frickin’ blind deaf idiot at that. But an _enthusiastic_ idiot, and that’s what counted!

Especially to Harley.

His girl had beamed like a pyro at a bonfire, trying to teach him off key songs as she lit the candles one by one, day by day. She laughed hardest when he messed them up so he messed them up more, putting on his best worst performance until the tears were streaming down her face. Her lopsided smile now permanently scarred into her skin, healing up faster than he imagined possible, transforming her into something new. _Different._

Like him.

She’d tried to treat him after by making some (apparently traditional) fried food but only succeeded in nearly burning down the hideout. Good kid, _terrible_ cook.

Ahhhh Speak of the devil...

Harley breezed through the door like he’d called for her out loud, the dogs at her heels, back from walkies at last. It was ridiculous that something in him settled whenever she returned, absolutely insane really, but well there it was. A calming little twitch in the pit of his stomach.

He’d never admit it but he half thought she’d walk out one day and never come back. Poof! Another of her vanishing acts, like she’d never been there at all.

He didn’t like that thought. It tasted like two week old Chinese food on an empty stomach. Like a great joke wasted on an empty room.

Nope nope nope. That there was twitchy territory. _Stabby_ territory.

But he didn’t have to get into it, not today, cos there she was! Her face all scrunched up as she made stupid baby talk to her attack dogs as she let them off the leash.

“Good walk?” He asked, peering over his shoulder as she dropped a quick kiss on his cheek. Scars to scars. Only hers were icy cold.

“We stopped to make snow angels,” she beamed, her snow damp hair chilling through him as she propped her chin on his shoulder, “well… I stopped to make snow angels. The puppies stopped to make yellow snow. We’re all just tryna live our best lives.”

He chuckled, nodding his head towards the open grate, “go and dry off by the fire kiddo, can’t have you sneezing through the big day!”

“Yessir,” she giggled, dumping her parka in the corner and settling down happily in front of the flames. Taking the opportunity to stretch out all those long bendy limbs of hers with some yoga.

“What pose is that?” He asked after five minutes of companionable silence, glancing up from his work with a smile.

“Randy Santa,” she giggled, still as flexible as ever as she kicked her legs over her head and splayed them artfully in the air, “and this is Mrs Claus the morning after. It’s festive themed!”

He laughed, waving her up again, “Alright alright, if you’re all warmed up you can start sorting the cash prizes. Big day a comin’.”

She bounced to her feet in an instant, beaming brightly as she skipped back to his side through the crowded room. Every side was packed with boxes and mechanisms and money.

Sooooo much money.

Piles of it settled like snow banks on every surface, great Aztec pyramids of the stuff. He’d dug out every secret stash, the kids robbing left right and centre to help pile up the cash for the big day.

Harley ran her finger along a stack of worn Benjamins as she crossed to the table, he wondered how it seemed to her. If she understand now it was nothing but _paper._ No different from take out menus or receipts or those leaflets for timeshare opportunities on the east coast no one ever really wanted but took to be polite.

It didn’t _mean_ anything.

But that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a helluva lot of fun with it anyway. Money might not be able to buy happiness but it sure could buy a better class of chaos.

“Where’dya get all this cash from anyway, puddin?” She asked as she took the chair next to him and started to count out piles of the stuff, button nose crinkled in concentration. “I mean I know we robbed that bank an all but this is _crazy.”_

“Secret,” he replied, lifting an eye to watch the curiosity spark on her face. Oh that would drive her _nuts,_ the first thread of a joke he knew she’d appreciate.

 _“_ C’mon,” she wheedled dragging her chair in real close, vanilla and gunpowder and warmth as she nudged him, “you can tell me.”

“Hmm…” he hesitated, timing was everything after all. Wait wait wait...

“Pleaaaaseeee,” oh yeah that should do it, her big blue eyes batting like she was having a seizure. Biting down on a smile he let out a theatrical sigh.

“ _Fine_ ,” he barely looked up as he attached a spray mechanism on the box he was working on, “its from my evening job on the phone sex lines, I know I know, you’re kicking yourself for not realising it before. But really Harls, with this voice how could I _not_?”

She blinked at him, that slow spread of delight colouring her features until she was laughing again. She had a beautiful laugh, all snorty and cackley and wheezy as she doubled over. He grinned in earnest then, face aching as he preened in her amusement.

She’d always been his best audience.

“Oh- oh my,” she snorted into her hand, “y’know I’d dial. Say,” she dropped her voice into a manly impression between giggles, “What colour undies ya wearing baby?”

He matched her tone for tone, pulling in so close she was practically cross eyed before he murmured, “Who said I was wearing any?”

She squawked, blushing cherry red as he nudged her nose with his. Her hands flailing as he cackled.

“Tell ya what Harls,” he grinned, drawing back all at once and picking up his tools again, “you finish up fifty boxes in the next hour and I might just let ya find out for yourself.”

“Oh hell yeah,” she squeaked so fast it was barely comprehensible, whole body vibrating as she scrambled to pick her count back up. Working in double speed as the dollars ran through her fingers like water.

There was something wonderfully satisfying about the effect he had on her. With most people it was a two lane game, fear or devotion. That was it. Harley though, she was a whole rubix cube of emotions. One he could have spinning with a single flick, red red blue green terror excitement _fun._

But that could wait, first…

“Hey uh you, Steve the Weasel, over here,” J snapped his fingers after thirty minutes of work, calling over the nearest hench as the latch on his box clicked into place at last. Picture perfect and ever so festive.

“What can I do for you boss?” The pinch faced goon ambled over goodnaturedly as J gave the box one final squint.

“See if this works wouldcha?” He handed it up to him with a smile.

“What is it?” Steve shook the box and J fought the urge to roll his eyes. Really, he should know better than to question the boss.

Besides, what the fuck did he think they’d been doing for the last month?!

“Your Christmas bonus.” He replied dryly, watching Steve’s eyes go wide with delight as he struggled to rip open the gift. Idiot.

_PUFT._

The box cracked open, a purple cloud hitting Weaselly Steve right in the kisser as he stared into it. The henchman gasped, blinked, and…

“HahahahahahahahaHAAAAAha HAHAHAAHA ughhh huuuuhhhhh gak,”

J tilted his head consideringly at the twitching henchman, his stretched out smile bleeding in the corners, red mixing in with the foam gently bubbling from his open mouth.

“Yup that works, bit strong though,” raising his voice he shouted to the team in the opposite room working with the vats, “take down the concentration by about twenty percent wouldcha? We want chaos not insta-death.”

The kids rumbled an affirmative, Harley rising up from her chair to peer over his shoulder at the scene. “I’m not clearing that up.”

“I’d never ask ya too,” He turned, kissing her quickly before getting back to work.

Santa and his elves had a lot of boxes to fill if they were going to be ready in time for the big day. Time for the goons to start picking up the pace, he had to a lot to prepare after all.

“What number you up to?” He added, eyebrow rising as he watched her work.

“Forty five.” She grinned, bills flying through her fingers like a billionaire at a strip joint.

They had a lot of work to do sure… but well, all work and no play...

Grinning he kicked his chair back and grabbed her hand, “Close enough.”

 

—-

 

She loved the feel of his scars beneath her tongue, each smooth ridge and valley. Sweet and strange and uniquely him _._

They were almost at the big day now, time passing in a rush as it crept ever closer. As each phase, each plan, was pulled together with a neat little ribbon. Filling her days with tense anticipation and her dreams with adrenaline fuelled speculation.

The gang was practically vibrating with excitement, J’s followers out beyond in the wilds of Gotham getting hyped too as the rumour began to spread about his big surprise for them. Smiley faces scrawled across posters for the Christmas Eve parade, technicolour hints of the fun to come.

And she was still right at the heart of it all.

Right here with him.

How could she have ever imagined her life was meant to be anything but this? How had she survived so long in that staid, grey world? All she’d ever had was work and study and sleep, an endless grind as the life was slowly suffocated out of her.

This was _living._

Breathing.

J had spun the world into colour in front of her eyes, every moment alive with chaos and pain and perfection. And moments like these were the best of it, this hushed little bubble before and after their day… night… _whatever_. When it was just him and her, skin on skin.

His scars beneath her tongue…

J moved all at once, the air knocked from her in a harsh gasp as he rolled her onto her back. Pinning her to the mattress like a bug in a frame. He had that wild look in his eyes, hair all tousled up and falling across his forehead.

It was enough to leave her breathless by itself.

“What do you want, Harls?” His voice was deliciously quiet, _teasing,_ fingers clenched around her wrists, trapping both of her hands above her head with one of his.

Her heart spun like a cat in a washing machine, clawing at her ribs as she wiggled breathlessly beneath him, “Well if ya offering-“

“No,” his tone changed, voice so low she felt it rather than heard it. Vibrating off her spine as the fingers of his free hand grasped her chin, “What do you _really_ want. Tell me tell me tell me.”

Her stomach squeezed, his closeness knocking the sense out of her as he stared right through her like she was made of glass. This was a dangerous game, one she lived for even as adrenaline stung her tongue.

There was no hiding from J, no lying, he wouldn’t allow it. He could see through her at a hundred paces, her soul laid bare for his consumption.

Her hands stung with the memory of long forgotten scars as she flexed them in his grip, yes and no.

Truth in the chaos.

There’d be no lying now.

“You,” she breathed, aching down to her bones as she admitted it out loud, “to be with you, like you. Just… you.”

She wanted it. God she wanted it. To be beside him in every chaotic dream, to be renowned. _Infamous._ To be more than anyone ever dreamed she could be.

Something beautiful.

Something monstrous.

She wanted to be _unforgettable_.

His hand dropped to her neck, squeezing just hard enough to make her shudder as he flayed her with his eyes, “Even if I hurt you?”

“Even then,” she was breathing hard, fighting the urge not to arch beneath him as her body reacted to his touch, his intensity crawling like insects beneath her skin. Itchy and _desperate,_ “I’ll hurt.”

He’d hurt her before. She was sure he’d hurt her again. But it didn’t matter, every scar becoming a story. A lesson. Another string that wove them together, tangible and real.

Proof he cared enough to hurt her at all.

His touch softened, tracing down over her heartbeat. Feather light and utterly unbearable.

“And if I tease you?” Hell in a handbasket he was teasing alright. Every nerve _burning_ with the whisper soft brush of his calloused fingertips against her skin. Electric heat pulsing right down through her veins.

“I’ll beg,” she gasped, hips jerking as he pressed into her. She’d beg and beg and beg. Every day. Anything to keep him, to keep this _feeling._

“Oh I like the sound of that Harley girl,” his hand slipped further, ripping a fractured moan from her lips as he sucked the oxygen from her brain, “But now's not the time... You know what day it is tomorrow Miss Quinn?”

“Yes,” she breathed, chest flushed as adrenaline and desire met in her veins. Potent as fuck as his green-blue eyes threatened to drown her, ”I do.”

“Well,” she could feel his mouth against hers, lips scraping with every word, “ _What day is it?”_

“Christmas Eve.”

“Christmas Eve,” he repeated, tongue snaking out to lap at the corner of her mouth. At _her_ scars. His eyes scorching her as he drew back at last, “our big night. You gonna be ready Harley girl?”

“Yes Mistah J.”

She was readier than she’d ever been.


	9. The Take Over the Breaks Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We do it in the dark with smiles on our faces,  
> We’re dropped and well concealed in secret places...  
> We don’t fight fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a while but we're finally here! Sorry again for the delay but I wanted to get it as good as I could before I unleashed it out here into the wild! :-P I also wanted to say a huge huge thank you to everyone who stuck with this so far, there’s no way I would have finished it without your kind comments, kudos and bookmarks! And a special thanks to Kachina for reading this prior to me posting to make sure I wasn’t crazy, and for her constant support and encouragement and generally being an all round great friend!  
> I really do hope y'all like this final slice of this story, and I hope to see ya in the comments if you do!

 

It was like his favourite song played by an orchestra of kazoos, each note pitch perfect and absolutely absurd.

That moment, that one endless second, before the world exhaled. The other shoe dropped. The _laughter began._

The feeling rushed through him, a slap-shot hit of adrenaline that had his bones shaking like a believer at a revival. One step away from speaking in tongues as he bounced in his chair. It was all right there! All those possibilities sitting right at the tips of his fingers - Murder. Mayhem. _Chaos._

The kids were already dressed up in their elf get ups, the float laden down with its boxes and bags and weapons, escape car waiting in the wings. Then there was the _fantastic_ job the Rosenberg’s had done with his costume.

He didn’t wanna blow his own toy trumpet but damn if he didn’t make a good Santa, better than those piss-stained hobos outside the department stores jangling their jingle bells for sure. No contest. His suit was plush and red and devastatingly handsome, replete with shiny gold buttons and a big black belt. A bushy white beard hiding his face until _just_ the right moment. Now he was only missing one thing...

Ah! There she was!

Harley rushed out of the hideout, the white bobbles at the ends of her double-sided Santa hat dancing in the cold air as she scrambled up the side of the float.

“Sorry about that Mistah J,” she grinned as she took his offered hand, breathless as she let him yank her up beside him onto the sleigh proper. “Couldn’t find my hat!”

“No problemo,” he grinned, too excited to be angry as he wrapped an arm around her. His whole body vibing with electricity as the engine rumbled to life.

What was Santa without Mrs Claus after all?

Especially one like _her,_  she was not letting the side down tonight! Oh no no! Her velvet dress was cut to perfection, wine stain red and trimmed all over with fluffy white stuff. A holiday card in the flesh, her face all bright and beaming as he called up the fake reindeers.

“Up Dasher! Up Dancer! Up Prancer! Up… Stewart!” He cackled, the float already pulling out of the dockside and heading towards the city proper, “We got a parade to join! Ho Ho Ho hahahahaha!”

—-

 

It was happening!

Her stomach was full of Christmas butterflies as they drove through night time Gotham. Snow had fallen earlier that day, a crisp white sheet that turned the city into a postcard from a distance. Clean and pure and picture perfect.

It was only when you got up close you could see the rot, the mud and slurry and churned up mess of the streets. There was something beautiful about it anyway.

The city's true colours shining through. Like hers had.

They slipped into the back of the Downtown Parade like they’d always been meant to be there, Laney in a high-vis jacket waving to the tired looking coordinator as they reached the cordon.

“I thought Jimmy’s team was on Sleigh duty?” The man grumbled, waving an orange cone at them as they slowed to a crawl. Every second they delayed ratcheted Harley’s nerves higher and higher, somehow perfectly still and trembling like a leaf all at once. Absolutely calm and boiling over with nervous energy.

Schrodinger's Psycho.

“So did we,” Laney didn’t blink, face twisting in a frown as Harley watched carefully from the front. Her hands tensing against the urge to grab a weapon, “but then we got the call and busted our asses out here.”

A second became two became three became… the gun was right underneath her seat, she could take him out now before he tried to stop them. Before he ruined everything-

“Guys such an asshole,” the coordinator huffed, waving them forward with a sweeping gesture, “go on then, we’re starting in two minutes. Good luck.”

Harley exhaled.

“Cheers. Merry Christmas.” Laney nodded, signalling the driver forward as they were waved through at the back of the parade like nothing had happened.

 Like they weren’t a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. With a laugh.

 “You excited, Harls?” J pulled her closer on the little bench seat, his hand braced against her hip. Warm and _real_. His touch grounded her even as his murmured words set her pulse rocketing like an unattended flame in a firework factory.

“Excited ain’t even the word, puddin’” she admitted under her breath, face already aching from smiling as the float in front of them started moving and they inched closer and closer towards the waiting crowds. “I feel about ready to _die.”_

“Oh not you Harley Girl,” her cheek tickled as he rubbed his fake beard against her face, cotton wool soft as she giggled, some of the tension easing from her shoulders, “but them… well… they’ll just have to see what Santa’s got ‘em.”

 

—-

 

A wall of noise followed in their wake as they rumbled down the parade route at last, hurling out presents like they were going out of fashion. Money spewed like snow from the custom rig on the corners of the float every few minutes, distracting each fresh wave of people from the screams and laughter of last. Oh it was _music,_ absolute chaos, _perrrrrfection._

A riot in slow motion that followed wherever they led. The back of the streets packed with the motley mess of misfits that made up his dear followers, corralling the parade goers into place and hopefully keeping the pesky GCPD off their back until the sacks were empty and the day was done! 

Oh it really was a beautiful night for it. Stars and screaming, just perfect for a little holiday madness with the missus. He snuck a fond glance at her as she danced about beside him. They really did make the perfect double act, her clown girl schtick complimenting him without stepping on his toes. A sidekick worth keeping.

His best creation yet, even if he did say so himself.

Her grin split her face in half, makeup flaking away from her scar as she handed out the boxes from the side of the float. A nightmarish beauty hurling out death and cash money with equal vigour.

Her masks stripped back at last.

And the plan… well that wasn't too shabby either! What the crowd found when they opened their boxes would be up to fate, death or dollars or both, that was chaos at its _finest_. It’s rawest, purest form. No profiling, no careful victimology. Just life and death and the beautiful sound of laughter, the crowd ripping itself apart as it struggled to get to them. To get what they thought they so desperately wanted.

The feeling buoyed him, turning his bones feather light as he ho-ho-ho’d about the place. A magic moment that seemed like it would last forever. Well, it would so long as no one turned up to ruin the fun of course...

 

—-

 

Everything was going _perfectly,_ a winter dream with them in the centre when it happened. A shadow fell from the sky, swooping in like…

Well, a _bat._

 _“Uh oh_ ,” J cackled, scrambling to hurl out a handful more boxes. “Here comes trouble!”

Harley’s stomach turned over as the figure landed heavily on the front of the float, a void of a person in all the candy coloured fun. A scowl permanently painted into his mask.

“Seasons greetings Batsy old chum,” J didn’t miss a beat, Harley trembling with restrained excitement beside him as they took centre stage.

She wondered distantly if it was possible to OD on adrenaline?

“What’s your game Joker?” His voice was a scar against the bright Christmas jingles, rumbling low enough to match the engines as the float inched forward.

Carol knew not to stop driving, no matter what. 

The show must go on.

“Don’t be such a Scrooge, Bats! Me and the Missus are just giving Gotham what it wants. Right Doll?”

“Right Mistah J!” Her face hurt from smiling but she couldn’t stop as she tossed another box into the crowd, “it’s a special gift for the good girls and boys!”

The crowd cheered, like it was all part of a show. Well, it _was_ wasn’t it? A show without a script where the blood would be real. And she was _headlining._

“What’s in the boxes?” Batman growled, taking a stride towards them.

“Uh uh Batsy, that’s quite close enough.” J pulled back, eyes flashing dangerously, “Wouldn’t wanna _blow_ ya load too quickly now wouldcha?”

He ripped the back panel off the sleigh with the kind of clumsy elegance that couldn’t be taught, slapstick perfect as he tossed it aside to reveal a nest of movie screen worthy dynamite sticks and wires.

“One of Santa’s elves has the switch Batsy old boy, and they’re gonna blow this whole thing sky high and half of Gotham with it if you start getting twitchy.”

That was her J, plans wearing plans dressed in tinsel. The crowd fell silent as he pulled off his beard at last, his laughter ringing out like music in the hush. She couldn’t help but giggle too, even as her heart threatened to break a rib as it tried to escape her chest.

“ _What’s in the boxes.”_ The Bat yelled but stepped no closer, J weighing up the scene with the stillness of a predator about to strike.

 A bomb about to blow.

_It was happening it was happening it was happppppennnninnnnggggg._

“Ahh go on then Harls,” he shrugged, her veins catching on fire as he met her gaze at last, “tell Bats what they could win.”

It was _her._

 Slapping on her toothpaste commercial smile she stepped up to the plate, lifting up a special set of gift boxes that had been waiting for just this moment. A model on a game show where the stakes were literally life of death.

 “These very special Christmas gifts are either filled with Mistah J’s spanking new Laugh X, cinnamon flavoured for the holidays _,_ or... _cold hard cash!_ ” She tore open the marked box, money swirling up in the air like snow and floating down around them, _“_ That’s right folks ten grand of it! Either way-“

“It’ll be sure to leave you smiling!” J finished for her, turning to the crowd with his best grin, “what d’ya say Gotham? Still want it?”

The crowd rustled, silent and confused for one long moment as the chaos caught up with them. The screaming and laughter a heady backdrop to the hush before… _there_ \- hands started reaching for them. A shout rising from the back as people clamoured for the boxes.

The Batman watched on, frozen like a tongue to an icy lamppost as the crowd surged forward. Dozens on dozens of people willing to risk death just for a little moolah.

And they called _them_ the crazy ones! Sheesh!

“Oh don’t worry Bats! Santa’s got a present for you too,” Mistah J set time rolling again as he dug into the sack, then dug in a bit further tossing out boxes left and right, “err… I know it’s in here somewhere, nope, nope, hey Harls,” his eyes met hers again, mad and gleeful and vicious and _perfect,_ “Sing Batsy a carol or something to keep him busy whilst I look wouldcha?”

White noise filled her head, roaring like the ocean as she turned to face the caped crusader. Breath coming in quick gasps as her hands clenched at her side, stilling her racing heart as she locked eyes with _him._

The Batman.

 J was trusting her. _Her._ Sending her out into her first, real proper fight with the dork knight. Sending her into the spotlight at last.

It was officially, deliciously, nutritiously Harley Quinn O Clock.

And she had a lot more than a _taser_ to take him out with this time.

“Sure thing Mistah J,” her face _ached,_ teeth clenched tight in a wide grin as she bounced towards the Bat. Determination flaring through her as she pulled her Christmas hammer from its hiding spot in the sleigh, “how about ‘ _Deck-‘“_ she swung hard, her whole body tensed as he dodged and dived, “‘ _the halls?’”_

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Batman said, straight laced till the last as she drew back to find a new angle.

“I don’t know that one,” she frowned, head tilting consideringly as she weighed up her weapon, gaze darting for a flaw in his defences, any flaw, “hum a few bars though and I’ll give it my best try!”

_There!_

She lunged, shoulder jarring as she landed a blow at last. Body armour and ribs crunching beneath metal as she grunted and swung again. Red and white paint chipping off the candy cane hammer’s edge and leaving smears against the black.

It wasn’t anything like fighting the henchies back home for practise had been, that had been a cake walk compared to this. Her years of self defence classes and gymnastics giving her a leg up as J cheered her on from the sidelines.

This was like punching _steel_.

“ _Stop!_ ” Batman bellowed with such feeling she couldn’t help but obey, his breathing heavy even as his tone softened, “You don’t want to do this, Harleen. This isn’t you”

He said it with such feeling it made her stomach churn. A hot-cold twist as she hesitated on the threshold of her next swing, letting the uncertainty show on her face as she stared up at him.

“You don’t understand.” Was all she said. He didn’t.

No one did.

“Please, let me help you-“ one gauntleted hand stretched towards her, black eyes creasing as she swallowed hard.

“But…” she murmured, reaching a hand towards her face, her scars, as she took a stumbling step towards him. Her eyes widened, “you’re right, I don’t wanna… this isn’t...” She couldn’t keep it up any longer, laughter rolling out of her in waves, cackling so hard her ribs ached, “Jeez, _really_ ? C’mon Bats has that _ever_ worked for ya?”

  _It wasn’t her._

Pssh - sure it wasn’t! Not the dull locked up version of herself she had tried to be for so long. Boring Harleen who’s fate had been to struggle along, working herself to death in a cold gray world until it crushed her.

She was Harley now. Her _true_ self.

“The Joker’s using you Harleen.” Her fists clenched at the words, hard enough to hurt as Bat boy made such a _show_ of being gentle. “You know it’s true.”

Her anger crested, sick down to her bones of hearing it. From him, Jonathan, _everyone._ They were all so fucking concerned about her life, so eager to tell her that J didn’t love her, _couldn’t_ love her, that he was just using her. It was too damn much.

“ _So?!_ ” She threw her hands up in the air, tossing her hammer away with a strangled sigh, “People use each other Bats! That’s what relationships are! I’m a grown ass woman here and I make my own decisions. _Like this.”_

She pulled her glock from her hidden thigh holster. Not caring one bit that she flashed halfa Gotham as she did it.

**_BANG BANG_ **

Batman fell backwards, warm satisfaction curling around her aching chest as he tumbled off the float. It was harsh and ragged and _perfect,_ a middle finger to everyone who thought they knew her life better than she did.

 J was laughing, the sound soothing through her as she glanced over to find him watching her again.

“You tell him babe,” he cackled, eyes twinkling like stars. Just for her. “Juuuuust don’t expect him to stay down for long.”

As if on cue a pair of dark gloves tightened on the edge of the float, the big man vaulting up a second later. Stupid bullet proof bat.

“Unfair,” she whined, aiming again, “this game is rigged!”

**_BANG_ **

Ugh nothing. And uh oh he was advancing, those big meaty fists clenched as he ate up the space between them. Kicking poor Rudolph out of the way as he prowled down the float towards her.

“Eek.”

She dodged the first hit on instinct but the second caught her off guard, ribs cracking as she stumbled backwards. Landing on her ass in the fake snow. Another dodge and she was kicking outwards, aiming for the place she’d struck before. Bats grunted even as her toes _snapped_ as they struck his body armour.

_Note to self, wear steel toe caps next time._

_Next time! Focus up!_

She  fired again, doing little more than annoying him as Batty whirled on her, his fist catching her straight in the kisser so hard she saw blue birds.

The world spun, everything on a delay as her life flashed before her eyes. New York. Gotham. Pain. Prom. Jerome. School. Shifts. Arkham. Joker. J…

He appeared in front of her all at once, haloed in the neon lights. Her chest heaved, blood trickling down her chin as she grinned goofily at him. He’d jumped right in front of her, her dark Prince Charming.

“Uh uh Batfink,” J tutted, “keep that up and you’re going straight on the _naughty_ list.”

He was bouncing a grenade in his hand, a very _special_ grenade. It was painted white, a twisted facsimile of his face emblazoned on it as red numbers lit up the back.

“Since it’s Christmas Santa’s gonna give ya a choice Batsy,” he grinned as he toyed with the pin, plan B in full flow, “you can stay here and try and take us in before this baby blows orrrr you can save all these good girls and boys of Gotham from the boom. Your choice.”

 With a cackle he pulled the pin with his teeth, and hurled it at Batman.

“Catch.” 

She giggled as Batman _did,_ accepting J’s hand as she struggled to her feet. Her sense coming back to her in fits and starts as the world kept its holiday glow.

The lights on the grenade were blinking, Batman looking just a little bit pale as they started ticking down. There was enough boom in it to take out a whole city block.

J had told her all about it as she’d painted his face onto the front, his black treacle voice sending shivers through her as she worked.

“C’mon kiddo,” J’s hand was on her arm, voice purring through her consciousness as Batman vanished into the night with the bomb, his grappling hook whirring like an engine. “Time for the big finish.”

He was laughing, the sound vibrating through her as he pulled her down into the crowd. She realised with a start that she was laughing too, too hyped to feel the pain yet as they danced through the streets. The sea of people split before them, their henchies shoving them back as money started churning out of the float in double time. Great swathes of it as the last of the boxes were hurled into the madness as they ran.

The air was crisp cold and hazy with purple smoke as the crowd roared and laughed and _screamed_ around them. Blood dripping from a thousand smiling faces. Blood dripping from hers.

“Wanna do the honours, Doll?” J tossed something to her, the metal skin-warm and strange in her hand as she tried to keep from drowning in her own adrenaline. It took her a second to recognise it, the detonator for the float.

The big finish.

They turned a corner, vanishing into a side street as she sucked in a breath. Voice trapped between giggles as she weighed it in her hand. As she shrugged her shoulders and flicked the switch.

The street shook, her knees locking as they stumbled towards the getaway car. She’d blown it as easy as blinking. _Boom._ Dynamite and death.

She’d just killed people.

God knew how many people.

She should feel terrible but… but J was smiling at her. The pride in his eyes burning through her like wild fire as they bundled into the car. Her ribs ached sweetly as she landed half over J’s lap, his laughter rumbling through her as they took off through the streets.

A second bang lit up the sky as somewhere in the distance the grenade went off. Orange against the monotone skyline. She supposed it would be too much to hope that Batman had gone up with it.

That really would have been a Christmas miracle but this… this felt miraculous enough to her. She had a home now, a purpose, power, chaos…

She had _him._

“So, Harley my sweet,” he turned to her like she’d said it out loud, his grin softening. Her heart beat so hard it hurt as he rubbed a finger against her cheek, “What d’ya wanna do for New Years then?”

This. Only this. Always this.

Forever.

She couldn’t find the words, kissing him instead of answering and tasting blood and sweetness as he held her tight enough to hurt.

It truly was a wonderful life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading guys, I really do hope you enjoyed it! Please think about leaving a lil comment if you did - a comment a day keeps the Arkham doctors away after all ;-)


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